


Grand Theft Bulma

by Ronniemandias, x7r (DaMoreFishy)



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, F/M, Illustrated, Nonbinary Character, Slow Burn, not that much mind you i am a busy gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-09-16 06:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 82,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16949184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ronniemandias/pseuds/Ronniemandias, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaMoreFishy/pseuds/x7r
Summary: In order to stop Vegeta from killing anymore of her friends, Bulma makes a rash decision and winds up trapped on Namek with 5 foot and 5 inches of bad tempered planet destroying Saiyan. She's sure it'll be fine, it's no biggie, it's just like a Buddy Cop film, but one of them is a mass murderer.----Namek/Frieza Saga Canon divergence where Bulma goes to planet Namek as Vegeta's hostage and actually does things instead of constantly being forgotten. This is the entire Saga, yes.





	1. Chapter 1

 

The stench of blood filled in the air, catching in the back of Bulma’s throat. The Capsule hovercraft engines groaned into silence, and the dust settled. Great trenches and craters marred the desert surface, with shattered rocks still tumbling down between the towering buttes and mesas. Undoing her seat belt, she leaned over to the window, her eyes picked out the bright orange of a tattered gi.

Krillin.

“Oh god,” she breathed, heart in her throat. Behind her, the others made to get out, and Bulma spun around in the chair, ripping off the seat belt. “Don’t! Stay inside! We don’t know what’s going on ye—!”

A thunderclap cut through the air, leaving her ears ringing, and another stone pillar splintered into a thousand pieces and cloud of red dust. Down below, between the rubble, someone’s bloody and battered form hauled themself out of the rock, their gi ripped to shreds and black hair now grey with dirt.

“ _ Goku! _ ”

Chi-chi kicked the bay doors open, the steel bending, jumping out. Bulma clambered across the seats, landing on the sand stone with a grunt. Chi-chi made to head for the edge, ashen faced, hair flying, but Bulma caught her sleeve.

“Is that all you’ve got, Kakarot?” The question hung unanswered, bellowed out by some small, dark figure, stalking out of the ruin. Bulma’s throat seized, and she dug her fingers into Chi-Chi’s arm. She recognised that figure from the tv, she recognised that cutting voice and mess of black hair—a Saiyan.

“A couple of weakling wretches and your pathetic son? Is this really your planet’s finest?”

Chi-Chi ripped her arm from Bulma’s, her silk sleeve tearing and shrieked, “ _ Gohan! _ ”

The figure below looked up, face smeared with blood and dirt, eyes snapping onto them as hard and fast as a dog bite. Bulma’s hands moved of their own accord, dragging Chi-Chi back. “Get back in the plane,” she managed, voice hoarse, her chest tightening in some unseen grip. “Chi-Chi, get back in the plane.”

Static filled the air, sizzling and crawling through the ground and up her spine The rock itself seemed to vibrate, the air too thick to swallow, until with another, ear splitting crack and flash of blue, a man stood before them on the edge of the plateau. The thickness in the air grew again; Bulma couldn’t sense energy but she could taste this on her tongue. She willed her legs to move, but they wouldn’t, her feet rooted to the spot as she watched the man approach, achingly slow, a long, dark tail thrashing behind him.

“Oh, good,” he spat, red flecking the edges of his mouth, one dark eye roving across them, the other blinded. “More useless fodder.”

“Where is my son?” Chi-Chi snarled, cheeks slick with tears. “Tell me.”

The armour barely clung to his body, one shoulder pad blasted clean off. Beneath the blood and dirt and spit his skin was grey. “You’re his mother, are you?” He asked finally, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “I’d say I was sorry about the mess, but I’m really not.”

Chi-Chi started forward, and his hand flew up in an instant, palm open, blue ki crackling between his fingers. Bulma’s teeth ached, and she tasted iron. She’d never seen anything like it, not even Goku could summon something like this.

“Now, now,” he warned, good eye fixed on Chi-Chi. “I’m not done yet.”

“What do you want?” Master Roshi spoke, stepping out from behind the hovercraft, clinging to his staff. Behind him, Oolong and the others cowered.

“To take your blasted Dragon Balls, then destroy your stupid mudball and every one of you fools along with it,” the man snapped. “Enough talk, I’m over this!” He extended two fingers, pointing at them, and the ki surged, flaring white hot blue.

“W-wait! Wait hold on! If you want the Dragon Balls, you can’t kill us!” Bulma blurted, her brain churning words out faster than she could stop them. His expression flickered, the ki receding a fraction, and Bulma took it as permission to continue: “We’re the only people who know about them! I’ve been studying them for years.”

He paused, and seemed to consider her words. He lowered his hand. “ _ Oh? _ ”

“I-I know how to find them, I can track them and I know how they work,” she explained, stepping in front of Chi-Chi, the wind ripping at her polo-shirt and shorts. “And if you destroy the planet, then they won’t work, they’re connected to our friend Piccolo.”

“Is that so? And who is that?”

Bulma paused. God how would you describe Piccolo?

“H-he’s… uh… he’s Piccolo! Big, green, mean, uhh—cloak!”

“Ah, the Namekian,” the man said, his lip curling. “Funny, I saw him for a few minutes before my man blasted him.”

“Oh great, now, you’ve done it!” Oolong called, peering out from behind the hovercraft’s legs.

Under his beard, Master Roshi paled, and stammered, “I-if Piccolo’s dead that means Kami’s dead—!”

“What the  _ hell _ is a Kami?” The stranger barked.

“—and that means the Dragon Balls no longer exist!”

A long silence followed, and the wind howled across the desert. The Saiyan settled back on his foot, regarding them with some unreadable expression before he let out a long, rattling laugh. He opened and closed his fingers, the ki arcing between his fingers like lightning until he threw back his head and screamed. The ground shook, rocks crumbling off from the mesa and suspended in the air around him. Chi-Chi grabbed hold of Bulma’s arms, holding on for dear life, as the earth shuddered to its core.

“Alright!” He shouted, the word ricocheting off rocks, splitting skulls. “Let’s try something else—you!  _ Woman,  _ you claim you can track Dragon Balls?”

Mouth dry, Bulma nodded. She opened her fanny pack hastily, pulling out the Dragon radar, the screen dark. “Y-yeah, with this,” she explained.

“Good! Hand it over.”

“No.”

“ _ No? _ ” He growled, and the hairs on her neck stood on end.

Bulma stepped forward, closing the distance, legs trembling. “How about we make a deal instead?”

“ _ How about I just take it from you and then blow your pitiful planet up? _ ”

“Because you don’t know how the radar works, and if you destroy me, you’ll destroy the radar, and you won’t get whatever wish you’re hoping for,” she hissed.

Blood dripped down his chin, his chest heaving, and she could see his mind race. He stuffed a hand down a pocket on his side, whipping out a thin metallic square, and pressed something. A remote.

“You’re lucky, you know,” he explained, his voice low as thunder. “If the Dragon Balls were made by that Namekian, that means there may be a chance for more on their planet of Namek. So, perhaps, you will serve a use after all.”

“I’m a scientist as well,” Bulma added, hopefully. “I made that radar and I’ve invented hundreds of other things.”

“I don’t care. If you find some Dragon Balls, then I’ll spare this useless rock.”

In the distance, something rumbled, like a plane crossing the sky overhead. Chi-Chi let go of Bulma’s arm, leaving deep bruises on her skin, hissing, “what are you doing?”

“Giving you a chance,” Bulma grunted, keeping her eyes level with the stranger.

“Bulma, you can’t do this,” Chi-Chi warned, taking her hand and squeezing. “You can’t trust him, think of the others, there’ll be another way.”

“This is only way.” Her voice was so hollow and calm that Bulma barely recognised it as her own. “Go get the others, I’ll stay here.”

“Bulma—!”

“Chi-Chi, let’s  _ go! _ We have to get to Goku and the others now!” Master Roshi called, already making for the pilot’s seat in the hovercraft. Oolong and Korin appeared in the door, urging Chi-Chi to follow. Her grip on Bulma’s hand tightened, her fingers growing numb. The two of them exchanged a look, and Bulma set her jaw with the slightest nod.

“Come back in one piece,” Chi-Chi said, eyes red, before she let Bulma’s hand slip from her own, and jumped into the hovercraft behind her.

The engine whirred, and the wind picked up. Bulma turned back to the Saiyan in front of her, keeping her shoulders back as the hovercraft whirred into life, kicking up dust and stones as it took off, and pulled away. It headed straight for the bottom of the valley, and the entire time, Bulma kept her gaze locked with his. 

“I don’t know whether to call you brave, or stupid,” he said, finally.

“I don’t know what to call you either.”

He smirked, straightening himself. “I’m the Prince of all Saiyans, Prince Vegeta, and I just spared your miserable life and planet, so you might want to be a little more thankful.”

The rumbling grew louder, and something appeared in the vast blue sky, a comet, hurtling towards the earth, piercing the clouds and heading straight for them. Vegeta remained still, watching her, his breathing wet and heavy.

“You don’t look so good,” Bulma said.

He glared, teeth bared. “I don’t need your filthy pity.”

Her brow rose a fraction. “It wasn’t pity.”

Something streaked across the sky in a blinding flash, and struck the earth with a low boom, sending shock waves through Bulma’s chest and causing her to stumble. The light faded, and she squinted in the midday sun, until she saw a freshly made crater on the edge of the mesa. A pale sphere lay in the middle of the crater, with the outline of a door and dark, round window.

Vegeta appeared beside her, the ki still billowing from his skin. “Hurry up before I change my mind.” He pushed her forward, nearly sending her flying, and she stumbled towards the crater.

“What is that?” She asked, looking over the edge of the crater at the object, its surface scratched and dented, but its shape still unnervingly alien.

“Shut up,” he grunted, grabbing her shoulder and pushing her down the side of the crater, towards pod. It hissed, and a door popped open, landing with a thud on the still warm earth. Inside sat a single pilot’s chair, with controls and buttons on the arms, the walls padded with some kind of insulation. Bulma’s eyes widened, taking in the respirator hooked behind the chair, the displays hanging from the ceiling near the top of the door, everything about it was unfamiliar, and fascinating—but Vegeta’s rough hand found her shoulder again, shoving her forward and almost into the door. “ _ Get in! _ ”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he shoved her into the chair’s arm, clambering in beside her, and settling back with a groan. Bulma stuffed herself into the side of the pod, squashed between the seat, the wall, and Vegeta himself, who seemed to be doing his best to avoid touching her at any cost. The pod door slammed shut, and Bulma let out a scream. “Jesus Christ!” She managed.

The displays burst into life, blinking and beeping, symbols flashing across the screens mixed with graphs and maps. It was all happening so fast Bulma barely had time to think. Vegeta reached out and pressed something, and the pod rumbled. Bulma gripped the back of the chair, face white, and made to hunker down a little more, but the pod lurched, and she slammed back against the wall.

Out the window, the ground fell away, and the scale of the destruction became obvious; the pockmarked earth, new scarred valleys, and entire pieces of land blown away and missing. Shaking, the pod shot into the air and Bulma lifted her head as they broke through the clouds, and she could see the distant outline of cities and roads beyond the desert, and then the hills and mountains, and then the blue curve of the planet’s surface. It passed in moments, too quick to catch, too fast to even register until the pod lurched again, breaking through the atmosphere with a violent shudder, and fell still. Bulma slumped forward, across Vegeta’s side, hot blood smearing across her arm.

In the lull, it felt like a dream. The pod seemed to float, deathly still, the window to the outside now dark, and the glow of the screens the only source of light. Minutes passed in silence broken only by the quiet beeping of the control panel, and Vegeta’s laboured breaths. Something soft and hairy brushed against the naked skin of her calf, and the spell broke.

“This is ridiculous!” Bulma shouted, pushing her back up against the edge of the pod to avoid his tail, nearly kneeing him in the chest.

Bunched up in the seat, bruises blooming on his face, Vegeta snarled, “shut up! I didn’t exactly plan for this!”

“You’re bleeding everywhere!”

“Would you like me to apologise?” He seethed, wiping his face with the back of glove, leaving a dark streak. “Just shut the hell up and _ stop moving _ !”

“There’s hardly any room!”

“ _ Woman! _ ” Bulma’s breath hitched, his hand around her wrist. His grip tightened, and Bulma suppressed a wince. The glare he gave her was deadly, blood streaming from his blind eye. “Stop moving, or I will snap each of your limbs.”

“Too bad I need limbs to locate Dragon Balls!” Bulma hissed, keeping still. Half sitting on him, half sitting on the arm rest, her knees shook with effort. She held his gaze; even battered and heaving, he was savage. The seconds dragged out, the tension threatening to suffocate, until he let go, and Bulma snatched her hand away.

“You don’t need all of them,” he said, with some thread of what she thought was pain weaved into his tone.

Bulma cast a quick glance to her wrist, opening and closing her fingers a few times, before turning back to him. He’d been a terrifying mirage of death from above, and now he sagged in the pilot seat, every breath coming out in a wheeze. All the bravado and confidence was gone.

“Are you going to be ok?” The words came out automatically, and the second they started to form, she knew it was the wrong thing to say.

Vegeta rounded on her again, blood and spittle flying. “I am a Saiyan elite! This is nothing! Do you really think you snivelling Earthlings had me?” She heard a grinding sound, and realised it was his teeth. “This is nothing.”

Bulma sucked in a short breath, and picked her next words carefully. “Does this thing fly itself?”

Vegeta let out a sigh, and his whole frame shuddered. He pressed his temple to the side of the pod, leaning away from her, grumbling, “it has pre-set coordinates.”

Bulma risked a look over her shoulder and out the pod window again, but it was an endless expanse of darkness. If it wasn’t for the quiet groan of some hidden engine, she wouldn’t have thought they were even moving. “Where to?”

He was silent, and for a moment, Bulma wondered if he had fallen unconscious, until she saw him reach out, jab a few buttons and bring up a display. “Frieza planet 79, of course,” he groaned. He let out another sigh, and mumbled something under his breath like “I don’t know what I expected.”

“What’s that?” Bulma asked.

“Shut up, woman, enough questions! You’re my prisoner, not a damn tourist.”

“I just want to know what planet I’m going to be imprisoned on, jerk!” Anger swallowed up any remaining shred of fear, and she found herself yelling. “I want to know where the hell I’m going, I want to know who the hell is going to be there, and I want to know how long I am going to be stuck in a fucking  _ ball! _ ”

“I don’t have to tell you anything! You should just be grateful I haven’t slaughtered you just like your weakling friends! If we weren’t in deep space with no room to move I’d kill you if your corpse wasn’t going to get in my way!” He roared back.

“If my dead body is going to be such a huge inconvenience to you in this bubble, then you might as well tell me how long it’ll take to get to somewhere where it  _ won’t _ be such a damn bother then!”

“It’ll take no time at fucking all when we’re in stasis!” Vegeta yelled. “The second I’m on Planet 79 I’m going to gut you, vile wench!”

“Not if I kick you in the nuts first, you bastard!”

The baited silence returned, like a room full of gas just waiting for a spark. They glared at each other, trembling with rage, until Bulma cracked, eyes watering, and stuck her tongue out in one last hurrah.

“Your life is hanging by a thread, you’re lucky that I want the Dragon Balls more than I want to blast you into oblivion right now, but you best watch your tongue,” Vegeta wheezed. “I’m the prince of all Saiyans, and I’ll blow up your pathetic excuse for a planet and you along with it if you cross me.”

“You’re the one who is hanging on by a thread, you’re about to collapse—!”

Vegeta’s hand shot up between them, a tiny ki ball crackling on the end of two fingers pointed at her throat. Bulma slammed her mouth shut, and held her breath. 

“Where’s all that bravery now?” He spat each word. Static electricity crawled across Bulma’s skin, the ki ball mere inches from her neck. “You talk big words for someone as weak as you.”

“If I’m so weak, then what I say shouldn’t even bother you,” Bulma hissed between her teeth.

The ki ball went out, and Vegeta threw his hand down, shooting daggers. “We’ll come out of stasis just before we land. When we do, keep your mouth shut, or I’ll shoot it off, and just follow me.” He reached out for the control panel, hand stiff, and Bulma realised he was trying to stop it shaking.

Bulma opened her mouth to ask him what exactly he meant by ‘stasis’, and how that would even occur, but he slammed his hand down on a button, and the last thing she saw before she slumped back against him were the flickering lights on the control panel, fading into nothing.

 

 

 

FIVE MINUTES TO PLANET FRIEZA 79.

PREPARE LANDING SEQUENCE.

STASIS TERMINATED.

ALL VITALS.... NORMAL.

 

Bulma woke with a start, and an elbow to the ribs. Vegeta gasped, his breathing ragged. In her black out, she’d somehow fallen across him, their heads next to each other. The second the automated message spoke, they’d woken, and tried to push the other off, until they hit the sides of the pod. “Get off me, woman!” Vegeta barked, still bleeding.

She pushed back against him with her knees. “Why don’t  _ you _ get off  _ me _ ? Jerk!”

“Because you’re almost standing on top of  _ m— _ !”

 

FOUR MINUTES TO PLANET SURFACE, INITIATING LANDING SEQUENCE.

 

“Four minutes?” Bulma repeated. She turned to the glass, bleary eyed, and gaped. The surface of some unknown planet stretched before them, wreathed in clouds and a deep, foreboding darkness. “Oh, god we’re so close.”

“Yeah, four minutes close,” Vegeta rasped.

Bulma blinked, and turned her head to him slowly. Was that an attempt at a joke? The pod shook, and rumbled, lights flickering. Bulma adjusted herself, trying not to knee Vegeta in his chest. “What is this planet, what’s there?”

“Have you not heard anything I’ve said?”

“I’m trying to drown out your screaming,” Bulma grumbled, pushing her hair out of her face. She leaned over him, peering at the lights and displays. She recognised some kind map of the planet, and a larger topographic map; it looked similar to the primary flight display in Earth planes and helicopters, but still too foreign to understand. “Aren’t we coming in too fast?” She breathed, leaning further across him to puzzle at the displays. “Have we hit the atmosphere yet?”

“Get off me, woman, for the last time!” Vegeta snapped, grabbing her shoulders and slamming her back on the arm rest. “If I tell you will you stop clambering over the top of me?”

“Yes! I will, for now!”

Vegeta growled, looking away. “Planet Frieza 79 is a prominent military outpost, we’re going to land somewhere inside it and when we land we’re going to be swarmed with soldiers and you are going to have to shut your damn mouth!” The words all spilled out of him as fast as the pod, and when he finished, he immediately turned back to the displays, jaw set.

“M-military?” Bulma began. “Whose military? What for? You’re part of it?”

 

THREE MINUTES TO PLANET SURFACE.

 

“Shut up!” He snarled again. “I’m in no one’s fucking military, I’m a warrior in my own right.”

“Ok, ok, fine, I get it,” Bulma replied, her face reflected in the window. The planet surface closed in, achingly slow, the clouds twisting beneath them. The pod shuddered, and Bulma flew forward against the window with a scream. A hand grabbed a fistful of shirt, wrenching her back by the scruff of her neck and against something hard. She realised after a moment, Vegeta had hauled her back onto his lap. Before she had time to think, he wrenched a seatbelt across them both, and gripped the armrests.

“I’m not letting you split your skull before you get my Dragon Balls,” he said through grit teeth, but his voice was hoarse, failing in his throat. Bulma twisted around to look in his face. His head lolled against his shoulder, his eyes flickering.

“Hey, hey don’t pass out,” Bulma warned. She lifted her hand, and hesitated, before she placed it on his arm, shaking it gently. “Hey! Stay awake! What the hell will we do if you’re unconscious?”

She thought he saw the corners of his mouth quirk. “I’d never pass out,” he managed.

“Ok, fine, keep it that way until we land!” The pod hitched with a resounding boom, shaking with turbulence, cutting Bulma short.

 

TWO MINUTES TO PLANET SURFACE. ENGAGING LANDING SEQUENCE.

 

The turbulence grew, the pod’s shaking turning into a devastating quake. The planet’s surface closed in, and with a loud, resounding thud, the pod pierced through the atmosphere. Light wreathed the window, a blinding hot aurora that grew with every second.

 

ONE MINUTE TO PLANET SURFACE. IMPACT IMMINENT…

 

Vegeta stiffened, digging his fingers into the armrest, almost ripping the heavy duty fabric, and Bulma’s grip on his arm tightened.

 

IMPACT IN 30, 20, 10…

 

Bulma braced herself, slamming her boots on the edge of the control panel, keeping her knees and legs bent.

 

5, 4, 3…

 

The ground rushed towards them, full of mountains and valleys, with clusters of lights and buildings.

 

2, 1…

 

They struck the ground with a bang, and Bulma lurched forward forward the seat belt cutting into her chest. The pod wobbled, and fell still.

 

LANDING SUCCESSFUL.

GO GET ‘EM!

 

Bulma caught her breath, hair in her eyes, her hands white. She reached for the belt buckle, her fingers fumbling with the clasp until it released, and she fell forward. Vegeta groaned behind her, and moved. Something popped, and with a hiss, the front of the pod came loose. Stirring and pushing her aside, Vegeta kicked the door, and the front of the pod flew open, cold air rushing in. Bulma gasped, and Vegeta knocked her aside, getting to his feet. Bulma made to follow, squinting against the sudden light, but Vegeta’s iron grasp caught her under the arm, and threw her out of the pod.

“Vegeta? Is that you?” Someone called.

“Fuck off, and stay out of my way!” Vegeta barked, jumping out and landing next to Bulma on stone tiles. Bulma lifted her head, brain swimming, and blinked. The sky above was dark, scattered with distant stars and a menacing near-by moon. Sleek white buildings, all curves and round edges rose up out of some dark and rocky plane, and Bulma scrambled to her feet, forgetting the pain in her side. Dozens of people closed in, of all shapes and sizes, some barely clinging to the description of ‘people’, each wearing the same severe shoulder padded breast plates and armour as Vegeta.

His hand found her arm again, and he wrenched her close. “Get back!”

The other soldiers paused, eyes wide, and stepped back. Even bloody and at death’s door, Vegeta’s presence commanded respect. Chest heaving, he pushed Bulma in front of him, and spoke, his voice ragged. “This here is my prisoner, understood? Touch her before I get her to Frieza and I’ll paint the floor with you.”

“V-Vegeta, where’s Nappa?” A bearded man asked.

“Dead,” Vegeta replied, steering Bulma forward, making her trip.

“Who killed him?” Asked a thing with a frog’s face, hobbling after Vegeta for a few steps until he gave them a withering stare.

“ _ Me _ .”

Shouldering people aside, he plowed through the group, steering Bulma across the flagstone floor towards an opening in the building. Everything was white, brightly lit and searing. Control panels, displays and screens filled every inch of round wall, with lights flickering and machines buzzing. People milled around the room, all dressed in armour, each wearing the same headset Vegeta had when he first arrived. Bulma felt them watching him, watching her, their eyes slithering across her back.

His fingers bit into her arm, but she could feel them faltering. Out of the corner of her eye, Bulma saw him, back straight, shoulders down, and head held high with dried blood cracking over his cheeks and jaw, giving off the air of some great returning warrior. But underneath his mouth trembled, and his jaw twitched.

He turned her down a corner, down a hallway, and then around another corner, his grip loosening with each step, until he pushed her roughly into a large, round room that was darker than the others, and bathed in some mysterious cool glow.

“Vegeta? Sir?” A voice hazarded as the door slid shut behind them. Vegeta’s hand slipped from her arm, and he stumbled against the wall. “Sir! You’re injured!” A figure rushed forward, and Bulma suppressed another scream.

A lizard, bent double, and dressed in white robes rushed forward, reached for Vegeta to hold him upright, but he pushed them away with a snarl. “Don’t touch me! I’m fine! I just need time in the isolation chamber.”

“R-right, quickly, come this way, I’ll set it up,” the lizard said, rushing towards the control panel of a great glass dome, filled with liquid. The room had a dozen or so glass chambers, all giving off an eerie blue light, each with its own control panel and set of stairs.

Vegeta took a few steps forward, Bulma just behind, before he turned and snatched up her wrist again. “Don’t leave this room,” he said, firmly. “Dr Malaka is no threat to you, but if you leave here, others will be, and I’m not responsible for their actions.”

“The chamber’s ready,” the doctor called over his shoulder.

Hot blood seeped between Vegeta’s fingers and onto Bulma’s wrist. “The second I am done, you and I are going to Namek to find those Dragon Balls. If you so much as think of betraying me and trying to escape, I’ll blast you to nothing.”

“So you keep saying. I’m not going anywhere,” Bulma replied, slipping her hand free. “Where the hell would I even go?”

He smirked, dipping his head in a nod. “Hmph, well, I’m glad you’re finally seeing reason instead of running your mouth.”

“Just get in your stupid fish tank!” Bulma spat, earning another thin smile.

He turned and the doctor busied himself helping Vegeta remove his damaged armour. Bulma drifted towards the wall, careful not to lean directly on any control panels as she slid down and onto the floor. She pulled the fanny pack on her hip around to the front, rifling through the contents for the Dragon radar and capsule storage box. She flicked the radar on, and the screen turned green, powering up. Letting out a relieved whistle, she turned her attention to the box. She turned it looking for damage to it or any of the capsules inside but it seemed fine despite the rocky landing.

There was a hiss and heavy, booming thud, and Bulma jumped. The doctor poured over the control panel, his claws clicking on a keyboard as blue liquid filled the sealed tank. Inside, Vegeta settled, electrodes to his temples, and a breathing mask over his mouth and nose. The liquid reached the top of the tank, and the doctor stepped back, something akin to worry across his broad face.

He seemed to remember Bulma, and wheeled around. “Who are you?” He asked.

“If you touch me or try to kill me, Vegeta will blow your face up!” Bulma said, stuffing the locator and storage box away.

“I’m not going to kill you, I’m a doctor not a soldier,” Dr Malaka explained with a half smile. “I’m fully aware of what he’d do.” He shuffled across the room, and offered a scaly, clawed hand.

Bulma hesitated, but reached out, and shook it. “I’m Bulma,” she said, quietly. “I’m a scientist.” Well, an inventor, her brain corrected, but really, what did it matter?

“What use would a scientist be to Vegeta of all people?” The doctor asked, shrewdly.

“Maybe you should ask him?”

The doctor laughed, low and hissing. He wiped something from his eye, and offered her a cock eyed grin. “Well, you’re certainly feisty! I’m sure he’ll get good value out of that.”

“How long will he be?” Bulma asked, suddenly.

Dr Malaka looked over his shoulder back at the healing tank, inside, Vegeta’s hair swayed slightly in the liquid, and the control panel beeped rhythmically. Bulma recognised one of the displays as a vital signs monitor, measuring cardiac rhythm and breathing. “Not long,” the doctor concluded. “Saiyans are a tough and stubborn race, it’s built right into the fabric of their being. He’ll be out of there in half an hour, if that.”

“Was it bad?”

Dr Malaka turned to her, eyes narrowed, before saying slowly, “like I said, they’re tough and stubborn, but they are not impervious to harm.”

“So it was bad, then?”

“To put it simply, yes,” the doctor grumbled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He returned to the control panel by the tank, and the sound of clicking keys filled the deserted room.

Bulma sank back onto the cool tile floor, everything aching. All the adrenaline had started to wear off and she didn’t realise just how exhausted she was until now. She reached up, running her hands through her hair, before dragging them down her face with a groan. Her shirt and shorts were crusty with sweat, dirt and blood that wasn’t hers. She rubbed off the dried blood on her arms, and the thoughts churned out.

What was she going to do? How was she going to get out of this? Clearly she couldn’t, there was nowhere to go, and no way back to Earth. At least, not any way that was feasible right  _ now _ . She didn’t understand alien technology, but, maybe, if she studied it closely—but that could take months!

She reached into her fanny pack and pulled out her phone. The lock screen flashed, and her throat went tight. It was just a picture of her dad’s cat, all black with big green eyes, but it represented everyone back home. She saved them, at least. That was her one consolation, she’d saved them before anymore of her friends could die, and if she played her cards right, if she could somehow, some way, make a wish before Vegeta, she could bring them back. She could make it right again.

She fingered the edge of her phone, digging her nail between the hard case and screen. Yamcha might even stop being a jerk if she brought him back to life, she thought, falsely. It brought a weak smile to her face at least. With a sniff she looked up at the tank again.

She’d been so caught up with the fighting, and the screaming, and the arguing and the threatening, that she’d never realised how small he actually was. For some reason, in her mind, she had thought he was huge, but in reality, he must have only been an inch or two taller than her, if that, it was only his hair and the deadly energy that radiated off him that made him feel so much bigger. Suspended in the tank, eyes closed, still scowling, he looked almost harmless. 

Almost.

Bulma got to her feet, her footsteps echoed as she crossed the room, tentatively approaching the tank. “How do these things work?” Bulma asked.

The doctor didn’t look up, peering critically at Vegeta’s heart rate on a monitor. “Artificially grown cells suspended in a liquid matrix,” Dr Malaka explained with a wave of his clawed hand. “They repair and regenerate lost and injured tissue.”

“Like stem cells then, but on larger scale,” Bulma remarked, taking another step closer. The tank was huge, with wires and pipes clustered around the top leading into some unknown area in the ceiling. Inside the tank, she saw Vegeta’s brow twitching, and his scowl deepen. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Dr Malaka grunted in response.

“I thought he was going to die at a few points,” Bulma continued, her voice clipped. “Crushed under rocks, shot in the chest, blown to smithereens but somehow he kept coming back.”

“That’s how Saiyans are,” Dr Malaka confirmed.

“It was a nightmare.”

Dr Malaka paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the keyboard. “Yes, it’s like that.”

The minutes passed in silence, except for the sound of the doctor moving between panels, adjusting things, monitoring displays, and all the while, typing notes. Bulma slumped down on the floor, back to the nearest empty tank, resting her chin on her knees and staring at intensely at Vegeta’s profile.

She may not have liked him, and didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him, but at the moment, he was all that stood between her and the everything else around her. She felt confident in the knowledge that she was too valuable for him to kill, she had the upper hand when it came to knowledge of the Dragon Balls, and if he wanted them that badly, he would be a fool to get rid of her and his only chance of getting them—but still, the fear lingered, somewhere deep inside her.

Something chimed, and Dr Malaka looked up. He pressed a few buttons, and the healing tank gurgled, and started to go down. Bulma shot to her feet.

The liquid drained, and Vegeta’s body sank, his hair still standing on end. Dr Malaka punched in a code, and something metal inside the tank clunked, the front opening up. Dr Malaka lifted the door, and Vegeta stumbled out, ripping the electrodes off, and snatching up a towel from Dr Malaka’s waiting hands. All the blood was gone, no bruises or lacerations, and his eye by the look of it had healed entirely.

“Welcome back to the land of the living!” Bulma announced, half jeering and folding her arms.

Vegeta threw a glance her way, and ignored her. Scars littered his back, taut silver skin built over the top of each other in a violent crosshatch, and the sight of them caused a shiver to run down Bulma’s spine.

“Seems like you ran into a lot of trouble, Vegeta,” Dr Malaka said, inspecting the almost shattered breast plate. “This armour is high quality, and you’ve reduced it to tatters.”

“Hmph.”

Vegeta started pulling on the fresh leggings that Dr Malaka had laid out on a table. Bulma bobbed her head from a distance, trying to see what was going on but not daring to move closer or give away her piqued interest. Something about the fabric wasn’t quite right, it looked thick and rubbery like a wetsuit, but it stretched with ease. “Tell me, where is Frieza?” Vegeta’s voice cut through her thoughts like a rusty knife.

“Off planet. He departed recently.”

Vegeta worked his arms through his over shirt, before reaching for a brand new breastplate, gleaming in the half light. “Tch. Sick of this place already, is he?” He caught Bulma watching, and glared. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Hardly,” Bulma replied.

“Good, because you shouldn’t be,” Vegeta said, working on another pair of fresh white gloves.

The doctor cleared his throat. “There was a message from Cui as well while you were out, he said as soon as your treatment was done he needed to speak with you about something in the training room.”

“Is that a fact?” Vegeta asked slowly, his mouth lengthening into another sour sneer. “Well, you can tell him I’ve got nothing to say.”

“You could just tell him yourse—”

“ _ Woman! _ ” Vegeta barked, jumping to his feet, his stance once again cocky and regal. “Wipe that look off your face, we’re going.”

“Wait—sir, you’re forgetting your scouter!” Dr Malaka started after them, holding a strange headset with a dark green visor.

Vegeta’s eyes darted between the scouter, the doctor and then Bulma, before he announced, stiffly, “ah, of course. How foolish of me.” He took it, but didn’t put it on, and headed for the door with Bulma in his wake. The second the doors closed and they were out into the deserted hallway, he shoved the scouter into Bulma’s hands. “I have no use for this.”

“Gee,  _ thank you _ , who knew you’d be so generous,” Bulma drawled.

Vegeta’s smirk returned, canines breaching his lip. “I am very generous, aren’t I? Just look at how I let you live despite how annoying you are!” He took hold of her wrist again, and dragged her down the hallway, his tail thrashing.

“Hey! Hey, slow down! I can’t put this into my bag if you keep dislocating my shoulder dragging me around!” Bulma started.

Vegeta’s grip grew, and he wrenched her forward a few steps, making her stumble. “Shut the hell up!”

Bulma did her best slip the headset inside her fanny pack along with everything else, trotting after Vegeta. They passed by soldiers pushing trolleys of gas canisters and armour, and the occasional long soldier stalking up the hall. They all paused for a moment, with dubious expressions, before continuing on. It seemed like everyone thought about saying something, but then thought better of it.

“Yo, Vegeta,” growled a voice, and Bulma walked straight into Vegeta’s back. He barely flinched, eyes fixed on a tall, blue skinned alien, with a face like a fish, complete with catfish whiskers. “Beaten to a pulp on some backwater planet, with Raditz and Nappa dead. To whom do the supposedly invincible Saiyans owe the pleasure of this grief to?”

“Get lost, Cui,” Vegeta said, tilting his head. “I don’t have time for your drivel.”

“Hold on there.” Cui’s hand found the edge of Vegeta’s shoulder pad, and the alien eyed the two of them with a wicked grin. “I heard Frieza is mighty unhappy with you for running off to that planet with your fellow monkeys. I’m sure it’ll only gets worse if he finds out you’re harbouring illegals as well. Just what were you planning to do with her, then?”

“Creep!” Bulma spat.

“If he’s not here, then he can’t gripe about it,” Vegeta replied, shaking Cui’s hand off. He leaned back on his heel, turning ever so slightly to block Bulma.

“What’s the rush?” Cui asked, lip curling. “Off to Namek are we?”

Bulma eyed Vegeta’s hands, and how his fists tightened. “Come again?”

“Frieza has been in a good mood since he found out about the Dragon Balls, in fact, he might even be lenient towards you for letting him know about how he can use them to gain immortality.”

Vegeta’s shoulders squared. “What?”

“He heard you on the scouter,” Cui explained, taking a step forward, his shadow falling across them. “I wonder just how much he heard—?”

Before Cui could finish, Vegeta’s fist slammed into his gut. Cui stumbled, groaning, and in the second it took for him to gather himself, Vegeta grabbed Bulma around the middle, threw her over his shoulder, and bolted.

Bulma clung to his pauldrons, the wind knocked out of her. Vegeta’s arm dug into her middle, almost crushing her, and she spluttered, “what the hell is wrong with you?”

Vegeta skidded around a corner, Bulma’s head narrowly missing the wall. His tail flew out behind him, and he sprinted down the hall. “I won’t let him do this! I won’t let him! I won’t let him!” Vegeta howled.

“Vegeta! Come back here!” Cui screamed after them. Bulma lifted her head in time to see the blue alien burst out from the corner behind them.

“ _ I won’t let him steal my wish! _ ” Vegeta shrieked, hurtling out the archway entrance and onto the landing pad, making a b-line towards the banged up pod.

“Vegeta, put me down!” Bulma wheezed, clawing at his armour. “I can’t breathe!”

Vegeta kicked the pod, screaming, the door flying open with a thud. He threw Bulma inside, and she hit the pilot’s chair hard, coughing and gasping for breath. Vegeta leapt in, pushing her aside and slamming the pod door closed, half rabid. “You filthy fucking bastard! Immortality is mine!”

“You’re going to break something!” Bulma coughed, bent double on the arm rest.

“ _ I’m going to break his neck! _ ” He screamed, his hands shaking as he punched in co-ordinates. Energy crackled in the air, the hairs on Bulma’s arms standing on end.

She pushed her back against the padded wall, trying to keep as far away from Vegeta as possible as he cursed and spat, displays flashing. Being stuck in a cramped pod with him while he was half unconscious was one thing, but this was crawling inside the atom bomb, and telling everyone ‘surprise me’.

Outside the window, figures moved, running towards them, shouting. She recognised Cui among them, nursing his stomach. The pod rumbled, and the displays blinked.

 

MANUAL OVERRIDE CODE ACCEPTED. COORDINATES RESET.

 

Vegeta threw himself into the pilot’s seat, the leather tearing under his iron grip.

 

COORDINATES 9045XY TRAJECTORY CONFIRMED.

LET’S GET TO IT Y’ALL!

 

The pod shuddered, and lurched forward, throwing Bulma back against the wall as it blasted off.

“ _ I won’t let you get away with this! _ ” Vegeta yelled, voice hoarse.

The pod hitched in the air, turning, and hurtled forward towards the edge of the atmosphere and the unfathomable blackness beyond. Vegeta’s breathing slowed. The vein in his temple still throbbed, threatening to explode, but he sucked in a sharp breath.

They sat in silence for a moment, Bulma keeping deathly still, not even risking turning her head to look out the window at the fast approaching stars, lest Vegeta notice. He seemed to forget she was there, still shaking in his seat. After a long minute, Bulma dared to move, inching her legs out from being wedged between the arm of the pilots seat and the control panel.

His head whipped around, eyes fixed on hers. Licking his lips, and pointed at her with a trembling hand. “You better hope your locator works,” he said. “Because if we get to Namek, and you’ve been telling lies, there is not a thing in this galaxy that will save you from me.”

“It’ll work,” Bulma assured, holding his gaze. “It worked on Earth; it’ll work there too.”

He ripped the leather off the seat, turning back to the control panel. “That  _ fucking _ bastard!  _ Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! _ ”

“Hey, careful,” Bulma began, instinctively reaching out towards his shoulder.

“Don’t tell me to be careful! Don’t tell me what to do!” Vegeta shouted, every word ricocheting off the pod walls. “I am nobody’s slave! I’m nobody’s fucking  _ lackey _ !”

“You’re not a slave, it’s ok! I’m not telling you what to do!” Bulma said, hands up. “I just don’t want you to crash this thing!”

“I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him!” His shoulders started to shake again, sweat forming on his brow. “I will make my wish and I’ll kill him!”

“Which button is the stasis button?” Bulma asked, leaning forward.

“Oh, I don’t know!” Vegeta mocked, rage building. “Maybe the big one clearly labeled ‘STASIS’?”

“Ok, cool.”

Bulma’s hand shot out between them, and hit the only button on the control panel that had any sort of writing above it. Vegeta opened his mouth to shout something, Bulma lifted her hand a fraction, wondering if she’d pressed the right one, before everything winked into blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "so long suckers! I rev up attack pod and create a huge cloud of smoke. when the smoke dissipates i am lying completely dead on planet Namek."  
> -Dril
> 
> Bulma and Vegeta arrive on Namek and cause some trouble after getting themselves sort of settled.

FIVE MINUTES TO PLANET NAMEK.

PREPARE LANDING SEQUENCE. 

STASIS TERMINATED.

ALL VITALS NORMAL.

 

“Don’t fucking touch my—!” Vegeta grumbled, and cut himself off, blinking. Bulma lifted her head, casting a bleary look around the pod. Her arm swung deadweight by her side, and she moved it slowly, pins and needles crawling up her skin. Vegeta sat up. “Whatever, we’re here.”

“Wow,” Bulma mumbled, wiping the grit from her eyes. “That was a lucky stab in the dark.”

Vegeta swivelled around to face her. “You just  _ guessed _ ?”

“Well, I can’t read whatever that says,” Bulma shrugged, nodding to the button.

“Can’t you stupid Earthlings read?”

“Can’t you stupid aliens invent a radar that tracks Dragon Balls?”

A muscle in his lip twitched, and he let out a frustrated cry, turning back to the main display. The pod tilted, and the eerie green curve of a planet appeared out of the black. A swollen planet stretched out before them, wreathed in clouds and vast green seas, three burning suns cresting over the the horizon. In the reflection of the window, Bulma saw her jaw drop, eyes wide. Planet 79 had been so small and dark, but planet Namek glowed, bathed in brilliant jade.

Vegeta huffed beside her, bringing up a topographic map on one of the displays, eyes narrowed. He folded his arms across his chest, and settled back into the seat. “Well, I didn’t realise it would be this big,” he grumbled, zooming out on the topographic map. “This may take longer than anticipated.”

The onboard computer announced four minutes to the surface. Bulma unzipped her fanny pack, fishing out the radar. “It’ll be fine,” she said. She flicked the switch, and the green grid appeared. It bleeped faintly, catching some distant reading, but gave no coordinates just yet. “The radar has a good range, and its picking up something down there, but it won’t be much use until we’re on the ground.”

“Hmph.”

“Also can’t you like, _ fly _ ?”

“I seem to remember that being something that I can do,” Vegeta jeered. “I could always just take the radar from you and leave you down there, woman.”

Bulma scoffed, turning the radar off again. “If only you could read my puny Earth language—”

“I have a chip in my brain that translates any language I encounter.”

“—and figure out my password.”

Vegeta blinked, mouth twisting. “I’ll just torture you until you tell me.”

“Ok,” Bulma said, simply.

“ _ ‘Ok’ _ ? Is that really all you have to say for yourself in your defence?” Vegeta asked.

The computer intercom sounded again, and the planet’s surface closed in, the vast green seas broken up by rugged water logged continents and islands.

“Yep.”

He laughed, and Bulma jumped. It was so sudden, and almost genuine, it caught her off guard. She felt it deep in her chest, and her mutinous mouth threatened to grin. This man had killed people she’d known for years, left them battered and broken in the desert.

“If nothing else, at least you’re more entertaining than the rest of Kakarot’s companions,” Vegeta said after a moment, his smile settling back into his standard sneer. He glanced at her out the corner of his eye, and nodded to the seat. “If you end up braining yourself on the glass before we get to the surface—!”

“If you move your big ass then maybe I could get in on some seat belt action.” 

A breeze whispered through the grassy meadows on Namek, the tall trees swaying. On the edge of the cloud flecked sky, the first star rose, and then grew. The wind picked up, and a dull, distant boom echoed through the rocky hills. The star burst, flaming white, streaking through the clouds towards land until it struck with a shuddering blast, tearing through the clay and leaving wide, smoking crater. In the centre, the pod rolled, and stilled, the dust and debris settling around it.

The pod door flew open with a hiss, and Bulma gasped for air, dragging herself over the edge. “ _ Holy shit _ .”

“Get out!” Vegeta barked, before he shouldered her out.

She hit the ground with a heavy thud, dust rising. “You jerk!” She spat, but there was little weight behind it. The ground was still hot, pebbles and rocks tumbling down the walls of the crater. Bulma rolled over onto her knees, coughing.

“Alright.” Someone grabbed the back of her shirt, and yanked her upright. Vegeta let go, and Bulma wobbled, front covered in dirt and clay. “Woman, get out that radar, it’s time we put you to use.”

“Shut up, shut up and give me a minute,” Bulma heaved. “And my name is Bulma!”

“Do you really think you’re in a position to bargain?” Vegeta threatened. Out the corner of her eye, she saw his tail curl. When she didn’t respond, his shoulders lowered. He grunted, grabbing a fist full of her shirt again to stop her wobbling. “Fine.”

Out of the crater, Bulma caught her breath, and took a moment. Rocky islands rose up out of sparkling water that reflected the pale green of the sky. Even though the sky was clear, the air was heavy with the smell of rain. Vegeta pulled on her shirt again, and she stumbled forward through the blue moss like grass. “Can you just stop yanking me for a second? You’re going to stretch out my shirt.”

“Don’t care.” He dragged her along, storming away from the crater towards the side of a rock plateau. Bulma twisted around, clawing at his hands, trotting around behind him. “Stop struggling!”

“Just let go of my shirt and I will!” He let go, and she fell forward with a cry. “Come on!”

A thunderclap sounded, and Bulma wheeled around. High above them, a comet shot through the green sky, glowing white.

“That’s Cui’s pod,” Vegeta grunted. The pod vanished behind a ridge, an explosion sounding in the distance. “He followed us.”

“That gross catfish guy?” Bulma asked, instinctively moving behind Vegeta’s shoulder.

Vegeta held out his hand expectantly. “Give me that scouter again.” She dug it out of her fanny pack, and he snatched it out of her hand, setting it on his ear with a smile. The scouter pinged, and Vegeta looked towards the distant ridge. “Well, well, well, look who decided to show up! Hello, Cui.”

Bulma blanched. “Are you insane?” She hissed.

She jumped at the sound of Cui’s voice through the scouter. “Just wait until I get my hands on you, Vegeta! I’m going to enjoy killing you!”

“Oh-ho? Is that so?” Vegeta asked. “Don’t make me laugh! Do you honestly believe you’d stand a chance against me?”

“ _ No! _ ” Bulma mouthed, waving her hands in front of Vegeta’s face frantically. “Stealthy! We should be stealthy!”

He caught her wrists, holding them still, the scouter flashing in front of his eye. “I was looking for a warm up and you’ll do just fine!” Bulma kicked him in the shins, Vegeta holding her out away from him as he growled into the scouter, “hurry up, Cui, before I die of boredom!”

“Are you blind? Take a good look at your scouter! My power level is still higher than yours!” Cui’s voice sounded.

Bulma twisted out of his grip, though, she knew that the only reason she got out of it was because he wasn’t interested in keeping her from moving anymore. He reached up and pressed something on the scouter, and it fell silent.

“What are you doing?” She stammered.

“Scratching an itch!” Vegeta started off towards the rocks again, Bulma hot on his heels, wiping the dirt from her face. He paused, and said with a thoughtful hum, “stay behind these rocks, I don’t want my Dragon Ball locator damaged!”

Bulma hesitated, but threw her hands up with a frustrated groan. “If I die, I’ll never forgive you!”

“You’re not going to die!” Vegeta snapped. “At least not by someone as intellectually stunted as Cui.”

A sound like a jet cut through the air, and Bulma ducked behind the stones. Vegeta spun around on the heel of his boot, striding off across the grass, hands on his hips. Bulma sunk lower, bent nearly double and peering out from behind the stones. Vegeta stood in the middle of the blue meadow, with it’s clusters of delicate mushrooms and soft grasses, and looking entirely out of place. Out of nowhere, Cui appeared in a shroud of blue, settling onto the grass a few hundred feet away.

Cui towered over Vegeta, his shadow falling across the grass, lip curled. “Here I am, Vegeta, just as promised.”

“Took you long enough,” Vegeta said.

“The time has finally come for us to settle the score, although…” Cui’s scouter beeped, and he lifted a hand up to it. “With that power level, you won’t be putting up much of a fight.”

“You know, Cui, I’ve got something to show you. I picked up a little trick during my time on Earth that you’ll be very interested in.”

Cui leaned back, crossing his arms. “Oh? Is it how to run away?”

“Check your scouter again.” Vegeta seemed barely able to contain his excitement.

Bulma dug her fingers into the clay, clenching her jaw so hard it ached. What was he doing? He’s going to get them killed!

“Fine,” Cui replied, lifting his hand to the scouter again, and pressing the button on the side. The scouter beeped, each one getting louder and faster until it was nothing but a single, shrill tone. Cui’s confidence wavered, and he started to sweat. “W-what’s this? You and I have always been evenly matched!

“Allow me to explain a few things to you, Cui, since I’m feeling generous!” Bulma could hear the grin to his voice, and feel the static running down her arms from where she was. “Each time a Saiyan almost dies, and recovers, their power increases dramatically, and you know what? On Earth they almost bested me, and I limped back to Planet 79 half dead.”

Bulma licked her lips, mouth dry. Vegeta being honest was more frightening than all the violent pride and explosive anger.

“W-why are you telling me this?” Cui asked, a tremble in his voice.

“Because you’re not going to tell anyone else.”

There was a rush of air, the familiar sound of someone taking off, and Bulma risked a look around the rock. Cui shot off into the sky, with Vegeta close behind, leaving two long streaks of pale blue light. Vegeta reached out, grabbing Cui’s boot, wrenching him back.

“ _ Where are you going, Cui?! _ ” Vegeta yelled, his voice echoing off the cliffs and islands. “ _ Don’t tell me you’re leaving so soon? _ ”

Vegeta’s fist buried itself in Cui’s stomach, breaking his chest plate with a sinister crack. He hauled him around, kicking Cui square in the chest and sending him flying through the air. Bulma watched with horror as Vegeta lifted up his arm, pointing two fingers up at Cui’s body, the air sizzling with power. There was a sound like a gunshot, a blast tearing through the sky. Cui shrieked, and with boom, his body ripped apart and into nothing.

Vegeta hovered there for a long moment, completely still. Achingly slow, he lowered his hand, and scoffed, “what a lackluster firework!”

Bulma jumped out from behind the rock, knees wobbling. Vegeta returned back to earth, landing softly on the grass.

“And would you look at that, you didn’t die!” He proclaimed, tossing the scouter loftily in her direction. Bulma barely caught it, her hands shaking.

“Y-you just… you just blew him up!” Bulma clutched the scouter awkwardly to her chest, staring at him. “Like he was nothing!”

“He  _ was  _ nothing! And now he’s gone! It makes my life a whole lot easier.”

Bulma shook her head, gulping hard. “But now other people will come looking!”

Vegeta shrugged, brushing past her and heading towards the towering cliffs again. “Good! I’ll destroy them all! Now, woman, get out that radar and tell me where the Dragon Balls are.”

Jogging after him, she pulled out the radar again, switching it on. The green grid lit up, and now that they were on the planet surface, a delicate topographic map appeared. Bulma’s brow knit, using her fingers to zoom out on the screen until it showed a series of islands and micro continents.

“They’re pretty far away,” she said, squinting. She zoomed in one one area, an archipelago to the west with four flashing points. “There’s four all together for some reason about 20 klicks from here, and I can see one more on its own in the opposite direction about 40 klicks away.”

“Klicks?” Vegeta questioned, pausing on top of a low hill, and eyeing the rocky cliff.

“Kilometres.” He didn’t answer, so Bulma sighed. “It’s a measurement of distance.”

“There’s a cave up ahead,” he said, ignoring her. She followed his gaze towards the rocks, and a distant half hidden entrance into the cliff. “The four collected Dragon Balls will be Frieza and his men, I’ll wager. I don’t know how long they’ve been on the planet but it can’t have been for long, so we’ll have to act fast.”

“Can the scouters’ detect the energy of Dragon Balls?” Bulma asked, following him down the hill and towards the cave.

“No, they weren’t designed to track them, they only track living ki,” Vegeta explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“And he only found out about their existence through you?” Bulma pushed. Vegeta shot her a poisonous look over his shoulder and she continued, “I mean, he wouldn’t have had time to create a locator or radar like mine, right? So, he might just be guessing, or using the scouters to look for… uh,  _ people _ .”

“Tch. I suppose.”

“What I’m saying is: he’s not collecting them as fast as you think, and we still have a better chance, if we play this right.”

They came to the cave entrance. Tall and narrow, the cave seemed like some giant knife had been thrust right into the rock. Vegeta spun around suddenly, and Bulma stopped short of running into him. “You stay here, I’m going to scout ahead.”

“What?” Bulma cried. “I’m not hiding in a dirty old cave! Who knows what’s in there?!”

Vegeta blinked, and listed off some suggestions, “slugs, frogs, maybe some snails.”

“ _ Eugh! _ ”

“Tell me where the four Dragon Balls are again.”

Bulma sighed, looking down at the screen again. “They’re in the same place,” she shrugged. “They’re not moving, and they’re not near any other Dragon Ball.” There was a grumble, and she paused. Vegeta stared at her, arms crossed, but one corner of his mouth twitched.

Bulma tried not to smile. “Are you hungry?”

“ _ No _ ,” he growled.

“If you are, I can get you some food—if you’re anything like Goku, you could eat an entire horse every two hours,” Bulma explained, reaching into her pack again and pulling out the capsule box. “I’m sure those four balls won’t move just yet.”

She headed towards the cave, ducking inside. Once she was past the initial entrance, the cave opened up into a dark, cool expanse. Water dripped somewhere in the back, and her shoes dug into the soft sand as she made her way to the middle, rummaging through the capsules looking for the one she wanted.

“This better not be a trick, woman.”

Bulma started. Vegeta stood next to her, arms still crossed. He could move silently when he wanted to. Bulma stuck her tongue out, and Vegeta flinched, glare growing. She pulled out the capsule she wanted, tossed it into the farthest and highest part of the cave. The capsule landed, rolled, and with a pop, expanded.

“Ta-da!” Bulma said, spreading her arms to showcase an entire round cottage, complete with wooden door, and two round windows, the smoke clearing. Blazoned across the side of the white wash wall, in great black letters were the words: “CAPSULE HOUSE.”

“H-how— _ What? _ ” Vegeta began.

“It’s a Capsule house! I told you, my dad and I came up with them; you can put pretty much anything inside a capsule, but the process is pretty complex and long winded, so I won’t explain it now, anyway—!” She rushed forward, pushing down the handle and swinging the door open. “Oh! This one’s nice! I don’t think I’ve ever really had a chance to look in this model before.”

“A whole house?!” Vegeta appeared beside her, hands by his side, looking suddenly pale.

“Y-yeah, I mean, again, you can put anything in these, this is probably the largest thing you can fit in these ones, but we’re working on making them bigger, right now I’ve got a bike, my tools, another wardrobe, a bar fridge—”

Vegeta pushed his way past her and stepped inside the house, spinning around on the spot, eyes wide. The capsule house was cramped, but homey, just three rooms: a living area, bedroom and a bathroom. The main room had a low, circular lounge in the middle, with benches for food preparation, and low shelves filled with books. While it was mainly built to comfortably house one person, it did have enough facilities that two people could inhabit the space without tripping over each other too much. Bulma strode in, closing the door behind her, and undoing her fanny pack.

She watched Vegeta circle around the room, his tail sweeping out behind him. Every available space had been filled, the walls were packed with windows, curtains, pots filled with hanging plants. A dining table with two chairs stood next to the tiny kitchenette, with a microwave and built in fridge. He wheeled around to face her, forcing his spine straight. “I thought you were bluffing about being a scientist.”

Bulma bridled. “I’m not bluffing! I told you I made the Dragon radar! Didn’t you believe me?”

“I believed you made it,” Vegeta said, his eyes wandering again over the pale blue carpet, and over the warm cream walls. “I just didn’t believe your species could come up with something like  _ this _ .”

Bulma kicked off her shoes, heading towards the kitchen. She felt Vegeta following after her, catching his shadow out of the corner of her eye. She pulled open the fridge door, and put a hand on her hip. “What do you feel like?” She asked.

Vegeta’s eyes bulged, mouth open. Inside, all manner of food had been packed away inside neat and labelled drawers or containers, stuffed into the shelves and fridge door and leaving not even a breath between each container. She reached inside, pulling open the drawer labelled  _ CHICKEN _ in her dad’s familiar handwriting. No doubt he’d stocked the fridge thinking to use it on some camping trip that never came to be.

“ _ Woman! _ ” Vegeta barked, regaining his pride. “I demand you make me something to eat this instant!”

Bulma eyed the contents of the container with a critical raise of the eyebrow. “Is there a ‘please’ in that request?” She asked.

“ _ It’s an order _ , I am a prince! The prince of all Saiyans and I order you to make me some food!”

She stuffed the container into his hands, and started looking through the other shelves. “If you insist, your royal highness.”

***

 

_ To be fair _ , Bulma thought, carrying over a whole raw chicken and a container filled with vegetables, _ this isn’t the worst thing that could have happened _ .

She watched Vegeta, sitting on the lounge, bent forward with his elbows on his knees and hands to his face as if praying. He stared into oblivion, his tail swaying slowly behind him. The Vegeta she had met on Earth had been monstrous, a screaming juggernaut raining ki down on their heads, ripping apart the very crust of the planet itself, but this one seemed much more complex, and quiet.

He was still prideful, stubborn and a powder keg waiting to go off, but each time she parried one of his insults, something unreadable flickered across his face. He seemed to say things just to rile her up, looking for a response, and when it didn’t upset her, or she jabbed back, the sneering twist of his mouth softened a fraction.

“What’s taking so long?” Vegeta broke her train of thought, looking up.

Bulma shook her head. “Patience is a virtue—hey, put that down! It’s not even cooked yet!”

Vegeta grabbed the raw chicken by the leg, eyes narrowed, before ki rippled down his arm with a crack. “Done.”

“If you could do that yourself, why did you need me?” Bulma seethed, watching him taking a bite out of an entire, now cooked, chicken.

“To get it for me,” Vegeta said, mouth full. He wandered off again, ripping off a drumstick and heading back to the lounge again.

Rolling her eyes, Bulma went back to cutting up vegetables. Even though he was half Goku’s size, and thirty times as self absorbed, he still somehow managed to eat the same amount, in the same frenzied way. Although, Bulma noticed with a smirk, he did manage to at least keep himself and the area clean, stacking picked clean chicken bones in a bowl, and digging his way through a third bowl of noodles and steamed vegetables.

Bulma made up a small bowl for herself, leaning on the counter and watching him thoughtfully. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to work his way through the entire fridge in a few hours. She shovelled some noodles into her mouth, eyes narrow. If Goku hadn’t struck his head as a child, would he be the same way as Vegeta?

Vegeta placed the last bowl down with a clink, wiping his mouth. “Radar. Now.”

Chewing, Bulma dragged the radar across the table towards her. She reached up to cover her mouth, saying, “the four Dragon Balls have moved.”

Vegeta jumped up, almost knocking the bowls flying. “Where to?” He demanded. Bulma shook her head, swallowing down her food and turning the screen towards him. His eyebrow twitched, and his eyes grew. “They’re near another one!”

He brought his fist down on the table, striking the counter, sending a chunk of marble flying. “Hey!” Bulma started, pushing her bowl away. “Careful!”

“You distracted me, woman!” He hissed. “You did this on purpose!”

Bulma held up her hands. “No! No, no, I didn’t, Vegeta, I wouldn’t, I have nothing to gain by doing that!”

“Fine!” He snapped. “Then you’re coming with me to collect it!”

“What?!”

He took hold of her forearm once more, and dragged her to the door. “Let’s see just how accurate your readings are!” He shouted, grabbing her around the middle, hauling her off the ground and heading for the cave mouth.

“Put me down, put me  _ down _ !” Bulma shrieked, kicking him as hard as she could, but he didn’t even flinch. He ducked out the cave, Bulma squinting in the sudden sunlight, before he kicked off the ground, ki falling off him in waves.

The earth left, and the cave grew smaller and smaller, the wind ripping at Bulma’s hair, pale blue energy pulsing through her veins. She screamed, voice hoarse, and with a boom that made her eardrums pop, they shot off through the sky. Islands passed in a flash, the sea whipping away beneath them as Vegeta headed straight toward the spot marked on the radar, his fingers digging in painfully.

“ _ Do you want to be put down now? Huh _ ?” He shouted over the wind, hair flying.

Bulma latched onto his arms, and above her head, she heard him laugh.

The wind stung, her lungs burning with every breath, and each minute passed with the weight of an hour, until finally, Vegeta started to slow, the energy enveloping them both dulling. He pulled up, stopping, and hovered in the air for a second. The weight returned to Bulma’s limbs with a vengeance, and she let out a weary moan. Vegeta dropped to the earth, but when he let go of Bulma, she threatened to collapse, so he grabbed her shirt again, holding her steady.

“They’re up ahead,” he said, nodding towards a steep rising ridge. “No flying now, they already know I’m nearby.” He dragged her along for a few steps, until she twisted out of his grip, panting.

“Th-that was the worst. That… was the  _ worst _ thing—that you have done so far,” Bulma started, hands wrapped about her middle, threatening to fall over. Vegeta stalked back to her, glaring.

“Get up and walk,” he said.

“In a second,” Bulma breathed.

“No,  _ now. _ ” Before she could protest, he reached around, locking his hand under her armpit, and hauled her up straight before walking off, her feet dragging along the ground. “Radar,” he grunted.

Clumsily, Bulma pulled the radar from her pocket, allowing him to carry her along. She flicked the radar on, and directly in the centre were five flashing points, and one arrow marking the radar itself, a scarce inch away from each other on the screen. Bulma threw back her head with an anguished moan.

“What?” Vegeta growled.

“It’s almost ten kilometres away,” Bulma said, throat dry.

“Is that far?”

“I didn’t even walk that far in school cross country!” Bulma moaned again.

 

***

 

Bulma trudged along behind Vegeta, legs aching. She wiped the sweat from her brow, Namek’s three suns beating down on her shoulders. Up ahead, she watched Vegeta skulking between the rocks, his tail wound around his waist as they climbed the ridge.

To either side, the land gave way, with low rolling hills and sudden plateaus. The green sea shimmered in the sun, with islands stretching off far into the horizon. The fields of low soft blue grass were broken by patches of red clay and mushrooms, the tall trees swaying gently in the breeze. If she wasn’t about to throw up, Bulma would have admired it and stopped.

“Time out!” She called, voice weak. Vegeta didn’t pause, darting up the rocky cliff. Bulma sighed, and called out, louder, “time out!”

In a blue flash, Vegeta stood in front of her, scowl as dark as ever. “No breaks.”

Bulma fell back, and sat on the ground. “You don’t have much of a choice,” Bulma heaved, her heart thumping against her ribs, the blood rushing in her ears.

Vegeta tapped the end of his boot, arms folded, and waited. “Break’s over,” he said, after thirty seconds.

“Not yet,” Bulma wheezed.

He waited again. “Second break’s over.”

“Jesus, don’t you ever get tired?” Bulma asked, glaring up at him.

“If you had just given me the radar and let me go find the Dragon Balls on my own, woman, you wouldn’t have had to walk so terribly far,” he said with the ghost of a smile.

“You’re insufferable!”

“I’ve been gracious enough. Get up or I will throw you.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong there, this was about the nicest he’d been thus far. Bulma groaned, but got to her feet with a reluctant sigh. She hung her head and continued on, cheeks flushed.

Towards the top of the ridge, Vegeta motioned for her to be quiet, and to hurry up. Biting back another groan, she doubled down and made one last push for the top, collapsing onto the grass, everything shaking. Vegeta crouched beside her, even like this he looked like he could pounce at any time.

They approached the edge of the cliff, keeping low. Muffled voices sounded in the distance. Bulma raised herself up on her elbows, bobbing her head to see into the valley below. White bulbous houses shaped like beetles crouched in the grass, broken up by garden plots and small fields. Two groups of people faced off against each other, a group who looked like Piccolo, dressed in coats and cloaks like him, and a crowd that she recognised instantly as Vegeta’s old allies, although, she wondered just how true that description really was.

Among these were three figures who stood out, two of them holding great orange spheres which Bulma recognised instantly as giant Dragon Balls, and a third, smaller figure sitting in a throne, looking like a pale nightmare.

She picked out finer details in the scene; several bodies of both Namekians and Frieza’s men, scattered around, great scars in the earth where blasts had torn through the rocks, and smoking holes through houses. Smaller figures ducked behind the taller Namekians, and Bulma’s throat tightened. She felt Vegeta bristle beside her, and she stole a look in his direction. His hands were balled into tight fists, his jaw set.

The talking continued, and Bulma strained her ears to hear what they were saying but it was all muffled. Three lights streaked across the ground, heading straight for the village, and Bulma’s breath hitched, until they landed, and her breath came out in a low whistle. Three Namekians, as strong and broad as Piccolo landed between the two groups, shielding their kin. Words were exchanged, and the large, pink alien holding two of the Dragon Balls under their arms threw their head back, guffawing. They said something, and a handful of Frieza’s men leapt forward.

“What’s going on?” Bulma asked, voice barely a whisper. Vegeta ignored her, gaze fixed on the smallest, palest figure among the group, who lounged in their throne, a long, pink tail hanging out over the side.

The Namekians rushed forward to meet Frieza’s men, hurling ki from their fingertips, flashes of gold and burning blue hurtling across the ground, striking the earth and hurling up clay. It happened so fast, Bulma couldn’t keep up, until suddenly, a ripple of shock made its way through Frieza’s men. Vegeta slammed his fist, a smirk returning. “Very clever,” he breathed.

“What?” Bulma asked. She prodded him, and he shook her off. “What? Tell me what they did.”

“The old Namekian destroyed the scouters,” Vegeta explained with a grunt, before he motioned for silence again.

Down below, the pink alien lowered his Dragon Balls, placing them delicately onto the moss, careful to not let them roll, before he stepped over them. In a flash, he was among the Namekians, despite his size, he moved in a blur. Bulma shook her head, digging her fingers into the grass, almost ripping it out by the roots.

“Oh no,” she murmured, watching one by one, the Namekian warriors get taken out. “Oh, no,  _ no, no _ .”

“Be quiet!” Vegeta growled, but the panic started to rise, and Bulma couldn’t hold back the tide.

“They’re going to die, they’re all going to be killed!” She hissed, voice breaking.

“ _ Woman! _ ” He made to grab her again, but Bulma slipped away.

Bulma’s legs carried her of their own accord, heart pounding hard against her ribs as she approached the edge of the cliff. Below, the battle continued, every scream and cry turning her blood to ice in her veins. Part of the cliff had collapsed at some point, leaving a steep rocky scree right to the bottom of the cliff and behind the men. Wiping her sweaty hands on her shirt, Bulma watched the scene unfold, and waited.

The pink alien rushed a Namekian, headbutting them in the gut and sending them hurtling into the cliffside, and in the resounding chaos, Bulma took her chance. She swung herself out from behind a rock, and slid down the scree, rocks and dust flying up in her wake.

No one noticed, ki and dirt flying as Namekians screamed only to be cut short but a pink fist about their throat. Bulma started to slow, the slope levelling out, and in a last ditch effort, Bulma threw herself forward, diving behind a large, low rock.

Up ahead, the dust settled, and the pink alien stepped over the crumpled body of a Namekian, rubbing his head. Above them, the old Namekian shuddered in the air, eyes wide.

“Bravo, Dodoria! Now, you, elder, I trust you understand why defiance is futile,” said a voice, every word slicing the air around it The alien sitting in the chair leaned back, horns gleaming in the sun and reflecting off their purple armour plating. She didn’t need Vegeta to tell her who that was; the deadly way he spoke, how each word pierced her brain like a needle, was enough to inform her that this was the famous Frieza. “Are you going to cooperate now?”

The old Namekian grit his teeth, his muscles shaking with effort as he lowered himself to the ground. Around him, the bodies of fallen Namekians lay, battered and broken, their cloaks fluttering in the wind.

“I have no choice,” he said, voice hollow. Behind him two children cowered in the door of a ruined home. “If I give you the Dragon Ball, you will leave this place, and not kill anymore of us.”

“Of course! Just think how easy this would have been if you had realised that in the beginning?” Frieza sounded again, leaning his chin on his delicate hand.

The aliens moved and Bulma ducked behind the stones, clothes stiff with sweat and dirt. She took a moment to look down at her hands, shaking, and the weight of what she was planning struck her heavy in the chest.

“Take this and leave at once,” said the old Namekian. Bulma risked another look around the rock, and saw him standing alone against Frieza and his henchmen. In his hands, he held a Dragon Ball; a perfect, amber sphere, glowing in the sunlight.

“Well done,” Frieza said. A smaller alien took the Dragon Ball from the Namekian, and brought it back to Frieza, who regarded it with a lofty expression, his mouth curving into a thin, sour smile. “While we are at it, I think you should tell me the locations of the remaining Dragon Balls.”

“Namekians do not sell each other out, even if it costs us our lives. I have given you what you want, it is time you leave.”

Frieza tutted, shaking his head. “Dear me, is there no one on this planet who is willing to speak to me about their friends? Well, never mind, the children will have to do!”

“W-what? No—!”

“ _ Dodoria? _ ”

The second Frieza spoke the name, the pink alien moved with lightning speed, his huge fist lodged into the old Namekian’s torso, sending him flying back through the dirt. The children screamed, and Bulma stifled a cry.  _ Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck— _

“If you wish to martyr yourself so badly, we’d be more than happy to lend a hand,” Frieza explained with an icy smile.

“Lord Frieza, forgive me, without the scouters, will we still be able to locate the Dragon Balls?” Asked the tall pale green alien, still holding two Dragon Balls under his arms.

Frieza waved his hand. “There’s only two left here, and tracking down the remaining Namekians will not prove to be much of a challenge,” he explained. “Really, Zarbon, there’s no need to worry. Dodoria, kill all three of them.”

“Children, run!” The Namekian shouted.

Frieza lifted his hand, thin and pale, ki surging through his fingertips and forming into a single, burning point. He jerked his finger, and a barb leapt through the air, past the old Namekian’s ear, and struck one of the children in the back in a blinding flash.

The blood roared in Bulma’s veins, pooling in her joints and she felt her legs moving again, this time, to stand up.

Dodoria rushed forward, grabbing the Namekian by the head, and with a sinister crack, dropped a limp body to the ground with a laugh. “Heh, so much for that Namekian pride!” He rounded on the last, tiny figure, who let out a shrill, terrified wail. They darted off towards the rocks, towards Bulma, robes flying, and Bulma shot up.

“ _ Hey assholes! _ ” She screamed, adrenaline coursing through her sinew, willing her forward, stalking across the field to meet them like an oncoming hurricane. Dodoria jumped at the sound, blinking wildly, and Zarbon pivoted on the spot. “ _ That’s enough _ !”

The Namekian child skidded to a halt in front of her, face ashen and wet with tears. Bulma stepped in front of them, shoulders back, her hair flying in the wind. Up ahead, Frieza turned, his eyes slithering across her face. Face to face, he was even more terrifying. He leaned back in the chair, tilting his horns curiously.

“Oh, my, my, what do we have here?” He asked, and Bulma felt each word burn across her skin. He didn’t even need to raise his voice for her to hear him. “You’re certainly not Namekian.”

“Shut the hell up!” Bulma barked, her rage building, her fists aching to bury themselves in this alien’ smug face. The Namekian child ducked behind her legs, and she felt them gripping her shorts for dear life, still sobbing. “I’m the bitch who's going to ruin your fucking day!”

“Really now?” Frieza asked, and Bulma felt something buckle. White hot rage suddenly disappeared under a wave of fear. Dodoria lumbered forward, rolling his head and grinning, but Frieza held up a pale hand. His mouth flickered, lengthening into a thin lipped smirk. “I didn’t pick you up on the scouters before they were so rudely destroyed, which suggests to me that you’ve either got power or no sense, but that you’re twice as brave and noble as all the slugs I’ve met thus far! You simply must tell me your name,  _ bitch who is going to ruin my day _ .”

An ear splitting crack ricocheted off the bluffs with a flash, and suddenly someone’s arm closed around Bulma’s waist.

“V-Vegeta!” Shouted Dodoria, stepping back.

“Now this is an interesting turn of events!” Frieza announced, something akin to shock flickering across his face before it returned to a sneer. “Is this one of your treasonous friends, Vegeta?”

“ _ Not my friend! _ ” Vegeta snapped, ki flaring around them. Bulma twisted in his grasp, grabbing a fistful of the kid’s robes, and braced. “ _ Bye! _ ”

He kicked off the ground, and in a second, they were gone.

The wind howled in Bulma’s ears, her eyes watering. The land whipped by in a blur, too fast to pick out features, the ki trailing behind them in a burning blue tail. Looking down, squinting against the wind and ki, Bulma tightened her grip on the Namekian kid, their eyes shut tight holding onto fistfuls of Bulma’s shirt.

“Hey! Thanks for that!” Bulma called over the roar. She felt Vegeta tense, and he glanced down and the expression he wore was nothing short of murderous.

“ _ What the hell were you doing? _ ” He shrieked. “I should have just let you die!”

“Well, excuse me for having a conscience!” She snapped back, spitting hair out of her mouth. She felt the kid slipping, so she reached down, and hauled them up, her arm around under theirs. “You can’t expect me to watch some shithead kill kids and do nothing about it!”

“You Earthlings are too soft! I knew you being here would be a mistake!”

“You made me come with you, _ dumbass! _ ”

He halted, and it was like hitting a brick wall mid air. Far below the islands and glittering green sea stretched out to the horizon, with high bluffs and towers of rock reaching up towards the sky. He dropped down, slower this time, the ki just shimmering across his skin.

“That dolt Dodoria is coming after us.”

“How do you know that?” Bulma asked. They touched down and all the weight returned to her legs with a vengeance. The Namekian kid let go of Bulma, hands shaking. Purple blood dripped from their nose, and Bulma knelt down to their level, and carefully wiped their face with a corner of her polo.

Vegeta paced along the grass, eyes fixed on the sky, searching. “He’s the only ki I can feel, and he’s coming in fast. Woman!” He rounded on her, pointing, hand inches from her face. “You’d best pay attention to how I get rid of Dodoria, and think on just how lucky that it isn’t you this time! Hurry up and hide, or don’t, I don’t care! Just stay out of my way!”

He kicked off again, and Bulma shielded her eyes from the dirt as he flew off towards another rocky bluff in a trail of blue. She tore her glare away from his back, and turned back to the Namekian. Holding out her hand, she offered them a gentle look. “Hey, my name’s Bulma, are you ok?”

They gulped, looking her up and down, before saying in a small voice, “I am called Dende, and I am not hurt.”

“That’s a relief,” Bulma said. “C’mon, we’d better take cover.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you pine for the days where Vegeta would address everyone with "Yo" in the Manga? Because I do.
> 
> *note: Dende uses they/them in this fic Toriyama do not @ me

 

In the back of his mind, Vegeta took note of the woman’s weak ki moving away. Troublesome as she was, at least she was taking orders.

He shot up into the air, the rivers and creeks bleeding between the canyons and bluffs beneath him, and waited. He could feel Dodoria’s ki, hurtling towards him from the west like some bloated plague, and allowed himself quiet smile. Energy surged in his chest, spreading to his limbs and fists in a plume; it was easily double of what it was on Earth.

Dodoria appeared on the horizon, speeding along the river below and Vegeta’s grin grew. With a flick of his tail, he took aim, and dove. He struck Dodoria in the back with his elbow like lightning, sending him hurtling into the water. Vegeta landed on the grass softly, folding his arms and striding towards the edge of the river, a spring in his step.

A thick and knobbly arm burst from the lake, grasping for the edge of the bank. Dodoria pulled himself out of the water, coughing and spluttering.

“Yo, Dodoria!” Vegeta jeered.

Dodoria’s head swivelled, and eyes bulging. “Vegeta! You little son of a—!”

“Been a while hasn’t it?” Vegeta called with false cheerfulness, watching Dodoria clumsily get to his feet, water dripping from his armour.

“Do you really think you can just blindside me like that and get away with it?” Dodoria rumbled.

“I do,” Vegeta confirmed with a smirk. “After all, without Frieza here to intervene, dispatching you will be easy.”

Dodoria moved forward, fists up. “I don’t have time for this! Lord Frieza wants the Namekian and the other alien with you, now, get lost unless you want to get yourself killed!”

“Oh, how merciful!” Vegeta called, circling around, watching how Dodoria’s eyes flitted from his face, to the sky, to the islands around him, looking for a way out. “Or are you simply scared to attack me? Surely your scouters must have picked up on my squabble with Cui? Now you must realise just how much stronger I am than you.”

“That reading wasn’t accurate!” Dodoria blustered, a nerve in his cheek throbbing. Static charged the air, the ki building in Dodoria’s arms. “ _ Don’t underestimate me, you filthy monkey! _ ”

A wall of ki surged forward with a boom, tearing through the earth and shattering the rock in a searing flash, leaving burned scar in its wake.

“Seems like you’re the one who underestimated me, Dodoria,” Vegeta’s voice sounded. The dust and light faded, revealing Vegeta just in Dodoria’s shadow. “Did you really think a flimsy technique like that would work on me?”

Dodoria’s arm shot out, and Vegeta caught it with a smile. Dodoria went to kick, and Vegeta jumped, pulling Dodoria’s arm behind him before grabbing the other by the wrist, pulling his arms tight across his back. He tried to pull his arms free, and Vegeta held fast, locking him in place with a laugh.

“We Saiyans grow stronger every time we walk away from battle!” Vegeta shouted, digging his fingers into Dodoria’s wrists, pulling them closer together, feeling Dodoria’s arms tremble. “The stronger my opponent is, the more my own strength increases! Why don’t I demonstrate that right now by ripping arms out of their sockets?”

“V-Vegeta wait! I have information! If you let me go I’ll tell you what I know.”

“I don’t care,” Vegeta snarled, pulling harder, and hearing Dodoria groan. It felt too good to hear him in pain after all these long years.

“P-please! It’s about your home world! It’s about planet Vegeta!” Dodoria cried.

Vegeta’s heart skipped, and Dodoria’s wrists slipped from his fingers.

“Start talking!” Vegeta ordered, with more emotion seeping into his words than he intended. Dodoria touched his shoulders gingerly, smiling through his pain. “Y-your planet wasn’t wiped out by some giant meteor or whatever Frieza told you it was,” he coughed, sweat dripping down his brow. “A Saiyan’s strength is no match for Frieza alone, but if a number of them banded together, it might prove to be an issue…” Dodoria kicked off the ground, flying up a few feet, but it was wobbly. He continued, “with rising numbers of extraordinary warriors, Frieza realised that the Saiyans wouldn’t remain loyal much longer, so he took drastic measures—!”

“So he blew it up?” Vegeta called, watching Dodoria’s nervous movements, and how he inched closer and closer towards the sea.

“You should be grateful to Frieza, he believed he could make use of your prodigious skills, but it’s too bad about the rest of them—!”

Something uncomfortable twisted deep in Vegeta’s gut, like a snake in the mud. He felt it waver across his face, but he quashed it down as he walked, taking slow, lazy steps towards Dodoria, craning his head up to see him.

“You know, Dodoria, I don’t care about any of that, I don’t care about my planet, or my kin or whatever other low class wretches were still left on its doomed surface when Frieza in his great wisdom decided to destroy it,” Vegeta began, lowering his hand, the ki flooding his veins and spreading into his fingers. “I’m just disgusted with myself for believing a lie, and for letting myself be used for so long!”

***

 

Bulma leaned out from behind a rocky outcrop, watching Vegeta prowling along the edge of Dodoria’s smoking crater. Above him, Dodoria hung in the air, his voice echoing around the river valley. “W-what!?”

Vegeta raised his hand, and Dodoria shot off. The blast was instant, flying from Vegeta’s hand like a missle, ballooning out into a giant ball of burning ki. Instinctively, Bulma covered Dende’s eyes, and slammed her back up hard against the rock as the light flared. Dodoria screamed, and with a heavy boom, his voice cut short.

In the silence, Bulma’s chest heaved, and her hand slipped from Dende’s face. They stood on their toes to peep over the top of the rock, brow furrowed. “He-he’s gone!” They announced, voice shaking.

“Yeah, yeah Vegeta is good at that,” Bulma breathed, pushing stray locks of hair back behind her ears.

“N-no! No—I mean, yes, the large alien is gone, but the other one! He’s not there either!”

“What?” Bulma shot up, leaning over the rocks to look down below. The wind blew, and the reek of burning flesh made her gag.

“ _ Earth woman! _ ” She spun so fast she almost tripped, clutching at her chest. Vegeta stood a few metres away, shoulders hunched, coming to meet them. He wiped the sweat from his jaw, and barked again, “where’s that scouter? I want to see where the others are.”

“I left it back at the house!”

“ _ Why?! _ ” He snapped, cracking his neck and grunting.

“Because, you  _ jerk _ ,” she snapped back, face red. “Your  _ jerk _ self manhandled me halfway across the planet before I’d even finished eating my lunch!”

He clicked his tongue, and his eyes snapped to Dende. “Why’s  _ that _ still here?” He asked, shouldering his way past Bulma. Dende backed up against the rocks.

Bulma cut him off again, standing between them. “Leave them alone. Their name is Dende and they’re just a kid, they’re harmless.”

“That doesn’t answer why they’re still here!”

“Where else would they be? Huh? You saw how that whole village was wiped out, you saw how they’re the only one left! Where the hell else would they go?”

Vegeta’s jaw set, ki still whipping around his fists in warning. But Bulma pressed on, pushing in index finger to the centre of his breastplate, and meeting him with the same, boiling rage.

“Vegeta if you hurt that kid so help me God I will make your life a living hell, and I will ruin  _ everything _ you hold dear! And if you want to kill me, fine, go ahead, but I am not giving up without a fight, and I will take you with me if I have to!”

Her scream faded, leaving a heavy, baited quiet in its wake. Vegeta moved back a fraction, and gulped, looking away. With a huff, he turned on the heel of his boot, and trudged off. “Fine!”

“Where are you going?” Bulma called, cupping her hands over her mouth. In a blink, he shot off into the sky, and the silence returned, broken only by the wind whispering through the meadows and cliffs. Bulma threw her hands down with a frustrated cry, and kicked the earth. “Fine! Fuck you! Fuck you, you stupid prince prick!”

“Are you alright?”

She’d almost forgotten Dende was there. She turned around, cheeks pinking, and gathered herself. “Yes, just pissed!” She ran her hand down her throat, taking in a deep breath and letting it out in a sigh. She made a conscious effort to relax her face, and unclench her aching jaw. “Hey, sorry about that, come on. Hopefully we aren’t too far away from where we set up base.”

 

Namek’s three suns never set, beating down on baked red earth and the vast blue meadows and seas. Bulma pulled her hair back into yet another attempt at a ponytail, sweat beading on her sunburnt face. Dende walked up ahead, jumping from rock to rock and always looking back over their shoulder to see where she was.

Bulma clawed at the stitch in her side, climbing up the hill. She didn’t want to admit it, but she didn’t have a clue where the cave was. She hadn’t even been sure which direction Vegeta had flown in to escape Frieza’s men, he might have gone in the complete opposite direction. She squinted against the glare, looking up at the towering cliffs. The worst bit was that everything on Namek looked the same, it was all barren wilderness and rock.

“I could fly us there,” suggested Dende, watching Bulma double over panting. She reached into her shorts, fumbling with a small capsule box she carried with her everywhere.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to carry me,” she said, selecting one of the three capsules, and tossing it just in front of her. There was a pop, and puff of smoke, and a small, pink backpack with her name blazoned across the top appeared.

“Oh,” Dende said, watching wide eyed as she dug through the bag and pulled out a bottle of water.

“It’s fine,” she lied, taking a swig. She shouldered the pack, and started walking again, bottle swinging from her hand. “So, uh, do you know of any other Namekian villages around here?”

“I don’t feel any others nearby, they’ve disappeared since they arrived.”

Bulma opened her mouth to ask who ‘they’ were, but saw the look on Dende’s face. “It’s ok, I shouldn’t have asked,” she said, gently. “Well, you know, I knew a Namekian on my home planet!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he was very strong, kind of aloof, I guess, and I suppose he did try to kill Goku—uh, sorry, a friend of mine—a few times, but he changed! He became a great ally, and one of the strongest people I know,” Bulma said.

Dende perked up. “All Namekians are related,” they explained. “Everyone is a child of the great Elder Guru, when our race was almost wiped out from the great drought, he repopulated the planet—your friend would have been part of our Warrior class! He’d be a brother of mine.”

“Oh, wow! Well, I guess he is a bit of a big brother when it comes to my friend’s kid,” Bulma laughed. They walked along, Bulma trudging through the grass and stones, and Dende skipping beside her. “So, who is this Elder Guru then?” She asked, after a while.

“The oldest and wisest of our race,” Dende explained. “I am deeply worried for him.”

Bulma gulped, mouth dry. The hiked in silence for a bit, walking in the shadow of the cliffs, occasionally catching glimpses of the water and distant islands. A thought occurred, and Bulma paused.

“Dende, can you sense energy?”

They blinked, and nodded.

“Vegeta—the spiky haired jerk who was with us before, could you sense where he is?”

Dende scowled, and they glanced away. “I do not know if I want to.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry for asking, but hear me out, ok?” Bulma bent down to Dende’s height, hands on her knees. “Vegeta is really scary, and I know that, but he’s not as scary as me, and  _ he  _ knows that. I won’t let him hurt you, ok? But he came with me, and I bet he’s gone back to where we set up base. He’s got nowhere else to go! So if you sense him, then we could head there.”

Dende’s brow furrowed, thinking. It reminded her of how Gohan used to look when he was younger, and she’d tried to make bargains with him to tell her where his dad was, or, more recently, where Yamcha might be. Dende turned to her, half pouting, but closed their eyes. Their antennae twitched, and Bulma waited with baited breath.

Dende pointed in the direction they were heading, slightly off to the left. “He’s that way, and not that far,” they said, and then added, relieved, “I don’t feel anyone else around.”

Bulma grinned, slapping her hand to Dende’s back. “Yes! Fantastic! C’mon, I’ve got some choice words for that uppity prince when I see him.”

Another hour passed in the hot sun, and Bulma finally stopped for a break, slumping in the shade of a tall tree by the shoreline. Dende sat down beside her, still not looking tired at all. She shook her head, face flushed and sweaty, whining, “this sucks! This sucks so much! If I knew there would be walking involved I never would have agreed to this!”

Dende picked up a twig and drew a few circles in the dirt.

“Is he still there?” Bulma asked, wiping her face on her sleeve.

Dende closed their eyes, and opened them again with a shrug. “He hasn’t moved.”

“God, why?” Bulma grumbled. “Is he just sitting around sulking?”

“What is ‘sulking’?”

“Uh—it means feeling sorry for yourself, having a tantrum. You know, how like if your parents make you do something you don’t like so you go off and say how stupid they are and…” She trailed away seeing Dende’s face, and cleared her throat. “Don’t worry, it just means he’s being silly and upset.”

“He does not seem like someone who would feel sorry for anyone, even himself,” Dende replied.

“N-no, I mean—never mind, you’re right. He doesn’t feel sorry for anyone, because the only person he cares about is himself—what’s wrong?”

Dende jumped to their feet, staring off towards some high cliffs that rose up out of the sea. “H-he’s moving!” Dende started, backing up. “He’s coming this way!”

“Oh, his royal ears must be burning,” Bulma said getting to her feet with a grunt. Dende ducked behind her again, and Bulma folded her arms. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine, I’ll handle this. Just you watch.”

In the distance, she heard the familiar roar of some fast approaching object, tearing through the sky and becoming louder. A blue light appeared over the distant cliffs, getting bigger with each passing second, until she felt the hairs on her neck stand on end, and the light come to a sudden, abrupt halt some 30 metres above them.

“You’re taking too long!” Vegeta shouted.

“Hello to you too!” Bulma called. He growled, and landed, ki dissipating. He looked grumpy, but not furious anymore. “I’m surprised you came back.”

“Only because this is ridiculous!” He wound his tail around his waist, his arms straight down by his sides, as if unsure of what to do with them. “Frieza could have all seven Dragon Balls by now and you’re just dawdling along aimlessly!”

“He does not have the others yet,” Dende piped up from behind Bulma’s leg.

Vegeta leaned to the side, fixing Dende with a stormy glare. “ _ Boo _ .”

“Well, let’s get back to the Capsule house and we’ll have a look.”

“Fine, but I am not taking  _ that _ .” He pointed an accusing finger at Dende, who tried to hide themself more behind Bulma.

Bulma reached down, hand resting on the top of Dende’s head, and said, her voice dripping sickly sweet, “their name is Dende, and they are a lost little kid with no family, and if you say another fucking word about them I will  _ choke you with your own tail _ .”

“Whatever! We’ve wasted enough time as it is!” He marched forward, took hold of her hand and dragged her out from under the tree before rounding on Dende again. “You, Namekian child! Try to keep up. because I am not coming back for you if you fall behind!”

“Oh no, we’re not doing that again!” Bulma snapped, ripping her wrist from his grasp. “No, no, no, we’re not shooting off at a million miles an hour!”

“Wh—? You said you hated walking!”

Heading off through the grass and rocks, Bulma threw her head back, calling over her shoulder, “yeah, but it sure beats flying!”

A cool breeze came off the water, and Bulma climbed up over the rocks, doing her best to ignore her burning calves, and the sweat dripping down her back. Dende trotted after her, robes flying, looking over their shoulder back at Vegeta. She could feel his eyes boring into back of her head. She turned her head just enough to see his shadow close behind her.

After setting a new record of thirty five seconds of silence, Vegeta caved.

“Woman! You’re too slow, this will take far too long!”

“The more you complain the longer it’ll take,” Bulma called in a sing song voice, climbing onto broad flat rocks, Dende at her heels. “ _ Look at me, the prince of all Saiyans! I’m angry and shout all the time an— _ w-woah! Fuck!” Her boot slipped out from under her, and she fell forward with a scream, foot slipping into a hole between the rocks.

“Ah! Are y-you alright?” Dende stammered.

Sitting on the ground, leg stuck out awkwardly underneath her, Bulma grit her teeth to the point of pain. Rolling over carefully, she pried her foot from the rocks, biting back another curse.

Vegeta cackled somewhere behind her. “Would you look at that? You can’t even walk correctly!” He howled between breaths.

“Fuck off!” Bulma pulled her knees up, and reached down to try and move her ankle, but even pressing on her boot sent shockwaves up her leg. “Argh, fuck, fuck, fuck  _ me _ , this isn’t what I need right now!”

“What’s wrong, Earth woman?” Vegeta stepped over the rocks, leering down at her with his arms folded. “Tired already?”

“ _ Shut up! I hate you so fucking much! _ ” Bulma shrieked, rolling over again, and using the rocks to haul herself up, sticking her foot out. She experimentally put weight on it, and saw stars. “God  _ damn _ it!”

“C-can you walk?” Dende asked, wringing their hands.

Vegeta jumped down, landing beside Bulma cat like, and fixed her with his most obnoxious smirk to date. “Are you seriously hurt? After a tiny fall like that? You Earthlings really are pathetic, I don’t know why I just didn’t kill the rest of you when I had the chance!”

The smack cut through the air and across the water. Vegeta flinched, and stared, a bright red hand print throbbing on his cheek. Bulma lowered her hand, whole arm aching; if she sprained her wrist as well hitting him—!

“I don’t want to hear anything else,” Bulma hissed. She waited for him to explode, she waited for the iron taste of burning ki in the back of her throat, or the angry static across her skin, but it didn’t come. He just stared, completely still.

“I don’t want to hear you say anything like that ever again!”

“Ok. Fine.”

“What was that?” Bulma began, taken aback.

“I said  _ ok _ ! I assume you can’t walk anymore?” He grumbled, holding out his hand and avoiding looking her in the eye. Bulma eyed the dirty glove warily. She took hold of his hand, and every muscle in his body tensed. He reached around her middle, and shot a stormy glare in Dende’s direction. “Remember,  _ keep up _ .”

He jumped up, and Bulma’s feet left the ground. She grabbed the edge of his armour to stop herself slipping as he took off towards the cliffs in the direction of the Capsule house.

 

***

 

The moment Vegeta’s feet touched the ground, he let go, and Bulma hobbled forward. She collapsed onto a rock by the cave mouth, and lifted her injured foot up over her knee to inspect. She reached out, prodded her ankle, and hissed.

“Where’s Dende?” She asked, not looking up, gingerly working her boot off.

Vegeta shrugged. “Tch, I don’t care.”

“Hi.”

Bulma looked up, Dende landing on the grass and giving Vegeta a wide berth.

“Hey!” She grinned. “I’m glad you came along!”

Dende glanced between the two of them, taking another step back from Vegeta. “I do not have much choice.”

“You could leave,” Vegeta suggested with a wolfish sneer before a women’s size 7 ankle boot struck him in the back of the head.

“Leave them alone, you’re such a bully! They’re only—! How old are you, Dende?”

“Twenty five seasons.”

“ _ What _ ?” Bulma gawked. Vegeta’s cackle rang through the cave. “What’s that in years!?”

“Namekians age slowly, woman!” Vegeta managed, trying to swallow his laughter. “A Namekian is a child for decades! You should see the look on your face!”

“ _ Argh! _ Just shut up! You’re insufferable!” Face burning, Bulma got to her feet, holding her arms out for balance as she wobbled, trying not to place any weight on her ankle. “Dende, you can stay with us if you want but you don’t have to. I can set up somewhere for you to sleep and I can get you something to eat—!”

“Our people survive entirely on water.”

“—or I can get you a bunch of water, whatever you like! And  _ you _ ,” she said, pointing squarely at Vegeta. “Why don’t you put that princely chivalry into practice and help a beautiful young lady who can’t walk?”

“Like I’d ever lower myself to that!” He started to say, before she snatched up his hand and leaned against him.

“It’s the least you could do after kidnapping me, holding me hostage, and taking me to a planet I don’t know and making me cook you four course meals every three hours,” Bulma said, pulling him forward and limping along. He didn’t move, and they locked eyes, willing the other to back down. Not for the first time, Vegeta grunted, and conceded defeat with a scoff.

Hobbling into Capsule house, Bulma finally let her arms slip from Vegeta, using the couch and chairs to make her way towards the kitchen counter, allowing her foot to at least touch the floor now that they were inside. The stool squeaked on the wood, and Bulma took a seat, examining her ankle more closely. Vegeta hovered in the threshold, his permanent scowl taking pride of place once more, and Dende leaned passed his knees to peer inside.

Bulma looked up, and raised her brow at Vegeta. “Are you waiting for me to invite you in or have you decided you’re allergic to being indoors?” She asked, pulling her sock off and kicking it away.

“Hmph.”

“Ok, well, make noncommittal grunts all you want but at least move aside and let Dende in, thank you.” She expected a nasty remark, but Vegeta merely slunk inside, making his way towards the couch. Dende carefully crossed the threshold, eyes wide, staring around the room in awe. “It’s safe!” Bulma assured with a smile.

“Woman, where’s the radar?” Vegeta growled, arms crossed.

Bulma lifted her ankle up into the light, and made a face. The joint swelled already, hot to the touch with a deep red mark rapidly growing blue. “Fanny pack on the chair by the door,” she said, not looking up. She reached out to touch her ankle, and grimaced. Vegeta didn’t move, and she threw her arms down with a sigh. “The little thing that I keep on my waist, the bag! Unzip it and it should be in there.”

“I know how a  _ zip _ works,” came his half hearted grumble, and the sound of him rummaging through the fanny pack.

Dende settled on one of the couches, bouncing on it. “This house is amazing!”

“Don’t get too comfortable!” Vegeta snapped, putting the radar down in front of Bulma. When she didn’t look up, he placed it down again harder, and repeated until she turned around, face blank, her hand slapping on top of the radar before he could do it again.

“Tell me where the Dragon Balls are,” he ordered.

“Fine,” Bulma replied, turning the radar on. Vegeta leaned over to see the screen, and she turned it away, wagging a finger. “Uh-uh, stop right there, on one condition.”

“I don’t need conditions! I’ll snap your arm and make you tell me!”

“I’ll show you where the Dragon Balls are… If you can say my name.”

“Woman! I don’t have time for your pointless drivel!”

“It’s five letters,” Bulma teased. “And it starts with B.”

“I am not playing this game with you! I am the prince of all Saiyans, an elite class warrior, the strongest of my race—!”

“And you’ve never bothered to learn my name! That’s why you’re always calling me ‘woman’!”

He licked his lips, reeling back. “You never told me it!”

“I did, but you’ve forgotten.”

He stared, shaking, and Bulma saw his cheeks turn the faintest shade of pink. “I demand you tell me your name!” He barked finally, regaining composure.

“Nah, I don’t feel like it now.”

His open palm stopped inches from her face. She felt the ki rippling under his glove, flooding his veins and pooling in his hand, his thumb bent across his palm, the same stance he’d threatened Chi-Chi with back on Earth she realised.

“Woman,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Tell me your name.”

Bulma gulped, and leaned back on the stool. He was holding his arm like it was a weapon, and the foreign energy crawling across her skin reminded her that it really was, but she kept the radar’s screen hidden. She lifted up one hand, and with painstaking slowness, pointed to the tag on her shirt above her breast pocket.

BULMA

“There are two energies approaching,” Dende’s small voice broke the tension, and Vegeta’s head turned so fast Bulma worried he’d snapped it.

“ _ What?! _ ” He didn’t lower his arm. “ _ Who _ — _? _ Those aren’t Frieza’s men! They’re so _ puny _ ! They don’t even feel like Namekians!”

“Where are they coming from?” Bulma asked, pushing his hand aside and sliding off the stool.

Vegeta skidded to a halt by the door, looking out into the cave and beyond. “They’ve gone?”

“No, they are hiding their ki,” Dende explained, fidgeting with the edge of their robe nervously. “But only a Namekian knows that.”

“That’s not true.” Bulma limped up behind Vegeta’s shoulder, peering out into the cave with a frown. “The Z warriors knew how to do that, they learned from Piccolo.”

“The  _ who? _ ” Vegeta spat, before shaking his head and storming out the door towards the cave mouth. “Stay here,  _ Bullmoose _ , I wouldn’t want my radar to get damaged—I’ll take care of this.” Bulma threw up a hand to shield her eyes from the dust cloud he left, blasting off out of the cave and away with a roar of ki.

She lowered her hand, glaring into the sky, and hoping he could feel it.

“He won’t find them,” Dende said, looking up at her. Bulma ripped her gaze away from the clouds, and relaxed her face.

“Yeah, well, don’t tell him that. Did they feel like they were enemies?” She asked.

Dende shook their head, chewing their lip in thought. “No, it felt like good ki, when it was there.”

“And not Namekian?”

“No.”

A stone tumbled somewhere at the edge of the cave, and they both looked up. A figure popped out from behind a rock, with a familiar bald head.

“Bulma?”

“ _ Krillin?! _ ”

She made to run forward, but her ankle caught her and she swore. Krillin rushed to meet them, his orange gi dirty and torn in a few places, but well and truly alive. He beamed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I didn’t think we’d ever find you!” He exclaimed.

Bulma’s grin flickered, and she stared. “We?” She repeated.

A smaller figure appeared at the cave entrance, with neatly cut black hair, and perfect little royal blue outfit made by some loving mother’s hand. He lifted up a hand to wave, and Bulma stumbled forward, ignoring the pain in her ankle. “ _ Gohan! _ Oh, Gohan I’m so relieved, I’m so glad you’re ok, come here!”

She grabbed him in a hug, and his voice sounded from her shoulder. “Hi Bulma!”

“Don’t I get a hug?” Krillin asked.

Bulma kept one arm around Gohan, and struck Krillin hard in the shoulder with the other. “Shut the hell up!” She freed Gohan from her grasp, and settled back, motioning for Dende to come over. “Sorry, this is my new friend Dende,” she explained. “Everyone say hi.”

Dende offered a sheepish smile, nodding. Krillin slapped them on the back, bowling them over. “Nice to meet you, little green!” He declared.

“Bulma,” Gohan said, pulling on her sleeve. “Are you ok?”

“What? Yeah, why?”

“But Vegeta!” Krillin hissed. “What did he do to you? He didn’t hurt you did he? Is he around?”

Bulma straightened up, and shook her head. “No, no, he’s fine, he didn’t hurt me. He took off looking for you guys; I dunno how, but he figured out how to sense ki between being on Earth and now, and I think he can sort of hide it himself.”

“What? Oh no, oh no this is bad,” Krillin moaned, dragging his hands over his head and pulling at his ears. “He’ll be back any second! We haven’t got much time!”

“You’ve got some time, he’s not the best at it just yet. He seems to be still figuring it out,” Bulma said with a shrug. “What about the others? What happened after I left?”

Gohan scanned the sky outside the cave quickly, eyes darting between the mountains and cliffs as he spoke. “Yajirobe gave us some senzu beans, and we recovered fine, but there weren’t enough for my dad. They’re still waiting for them to grow, then he’s heading here too.”

“ _ Goku’s alive!? _ ” Bulma asked, grabbing Gohan by the shoulders.

He nodded, eyes wide. “Y-yeah, when you and Vegeta left, the others came and got us; he’s in hospital right now.”

“He’s doing fine, from what I hear,” Krillin assured. “But we followed you as soon as we could, Mr Popo lent us Kami’s ship, and it took us a whole month from Earth—we haven’t heard anything since we left.” His face became serious, and he took Bulma’s hand in his. “Bulma, we have to go, come on, while Vegeta’s busy!”

“Go where?”

“Escape! You know, _ run away _ , rescue you from Vegeta?” Krillin said, almost pleading.

Bulma ripped her hands from his. “Krillin, no.”

“ _ What do you mean ‘no’?! _ ” He peeped.

Gohan turned back to her, voice breaking. “But he’s evil!”

Bulma snorted. She limped towards the cave mouth, and seated herself with refined delicacy on a mossy rock. “You think I don’t know that? Just stop and think about this for a moment. If Vegeta finds out I’m gone, he’ll lose it, he’ll blast this planet to oblivion not just because I betrayed him, but because I’m the only thing that can help him get the Dragon Balls.”

“And we don’t want him to get them!” Krillin cried, darting in front of her, visibly sweating.

Bulma held up her hand for silence, and Krillin’s protest died in his throat.

“There are guys on this planet stronger than any of us could have imagined, and so far, he’s been the only person whose been able to defeat them and keep them in check. I don’t want him to have the Dragon Balls either, but I can keep an eye on him and handle him myself. Just trust me on this, it’ll do more harm than good if I leave.”

“H-he’s coming back!” Gohan called.

Krillin took her hand again, squeezing tightly. “Bulma, he’s not safe! You saw what he did on Earth, and everyone there was a powerful warrior and you’re just… you’re just—!”

“Just  _ what, _ Krillin?”

“You’re just Bulma!” Gohan added.

Something in the back of Bulma’s mind snapped, and she saw red.

“And being  _ just Bulma _ has kept me alive and kept everyone else on this stupid planet alive and everyone back home alive! Get out of here, and take Dende with you because I don’t trust Vegeta as far as I could throw him with someone who  _ isn’t just Bulma _ !”

“W-wait, you don’t trust him with the kid but you trust him with  _ you _ ?” Krillin started.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, now hurry up and get the hell out of here and keep your stupid energy low!” She grabbed Dende and Gohan by the back of their robes, and dragged them forward toward the cave, Krillin trotting behind.

“Ok, ok, let’s go,” Krillin panted. He looked over his shoulder, and blanched. “Ok, we gotta go right now he’s coming back and he’s pissed!”

Bulma rummaged in her fanny pack and pulled out an old beat up satellite phone. She’d planned on trying to broaden its range to reach Earth, but this was a better idea.

“Here,” she handed it to Krillin, saying, “I have the other one, this way I can contact you if I get into big trouble.”

Stuffing the phone into the sash around his waist, Krillin lead the three of them stepped out onto the grass with Bulma watching from the entrance. Gohan and Dende offered half hearted goodbyes, and Krillin dipped his chin in a reverent nod. Instead of kicking off and flying, they half sprinted, half jumped, over the water to the other side, and quickly vanished behind the hills.

Several minutes passed, a cool breeze blowing through the grass and lonely trees. The three suns burned overhead, their reflections glittering in the water. In all the rush, she’d never really taken a moment to admire where she was, and the alien beauty of it. She took a deep breath, and let it out with a low whistle, planning her story.

Vegeta wouldn’t take kindly to finding out the others were here, he’d see it as a challenge, or worse, potential threat, but keeping it from him and having him find out could be just as explosive. Somewhere over the horizon, she heard the roar of someone fast approaching, and straightened up, letting her foot rest carefully on the ground to keep balanced, but careful not to put too much weight on it.

In a few seconds, Vegeta arrived, landing on the ground with a thud, his hair even more wild looking than normal. He made to storm into the cave, but froze, staring.

Bulma raised her hand. “Hey, hot stuff.”

“Hot—? Shut up. What are you doing?” He began, moving forward, and pausing again with a frown. “That kid isn’t here.”

“Yeah, they left.”

Vegeta nodded, not really looking at her anymore, she waited for him to continue and ask where Dende had gone, but he didn’t. She noticed the sweat on his brow, and how he flexed his hands and fingers. Was he anxious?

“Fine, fine, good.”

“Are you alright?” Her question hung for a moment, and Vegeta’s back stiffened, and with great effort it seemed, he forced his shoulders down.

“It’s none of your concern,” he said, finally, brushing past her to head to Capsule house before stopping. He took two steps back, and thrust his arm out expectantly. When she didn’t move, he gave her a pointed glare, and shook his arm. “Well?”

Bulma blinked, cheeks hot. “Oh! Oh, right.”

She reached out, carefully, and took hold of his offered arm, and he dragged her to the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No chapter summaries, we dive in blind like men

The bedroom was a squat affair, smaller than what Bulma was used to, and would have liked, but it was better than nothing. She’d dug through the wardrobe already, and was surprised to find a box of clothes she hadn’t seen for several years and assumed had been lost to time. Shirts, jeans, old baggy jumpers and too small dresses littered the floor and single armchair in her search for something that would fit her.

She’d curled her lip at the floral sheets and granny cover duvet, but at least there was a bed. It was better than sleeping in a hole or some dirt pile or whatever the hell Vegeta would have suggested.

Lying in bed, Bulma propped her swollen ankle up on an old cushion, and carefully balanced the icepack on top of that. Of all the things that could have happened while she was here, a sprained ankle wasn’t even on the shortlist of terrifying and grim possibilities.

Leaning across the frilly pillows for the bedside drawers, she groped between the family photos, flower vase and chunky alarm clock to reach the radar. She pressed the button, and the screen lit up with a ping. On screen, five clustered points all glowed. They hadn’t moved in a long time, but neither had the others, just yet. Either Frieza was taking a break and collecting himself, or he was planning; something told Bulma that Frieza wasn’t the type of lick his wounds.

“Are you  _ still _ here? What’s wrong with you?”

The radar flew from her hands and Bulma caught it awkwardly. Vegeta stood in the doorway, shoulders hunched, tight fisted and regarding her with a narrow eyed frown. It a level below his usual glares.

Bulma glanced at the clock. God, it hadn’t even been an hour since Dende and the others left.

Clearing her throat with a sweet smile, Bulma gestured dramatically to her ankle. “What do you think is wrong with me?”

“So? Aren’t you over it yet?”

“No, I am not ‘ _ over it _ ’! I can’t walk! That’s what’s  _ wrong  _ with me, genius!”

“No, what’s wrong with you is your constant complaining and poor attitude,” Vegeta pointed out, crossing the room. He didn’t bother to step over her clothes. Mind you, it was probably her fault for leaving them on the floor.

“Well, fancy the pot calling the kettle black!” She scoffed, adjusting the ice pack. “I’m sorry I’m not some great big jerk with jerk powers who turns into a bigger and stronger jerk every time his jerk self almost dies!”

“Heh. Your insults have been lackluster lately,” he jeered, but there was a a whisper of a smile to his words. “It must be that great and terrible pain of yours clouding your mind.”

“ _ Ugh! _ Why are you even here? I thought you were out training or hitting your head on a rock or looking for Dragon Balls or whatever the hell it is you do when you’re not bothering me!” Bulma snapped, grabbing her book beside her and burying her face in a random page, hoping he’d lose interest. 

She heard him shift his weight, and she hoped it meant he’d leave, until he said, “well, I can’t look for Dragon Balls if the person who uses the radar is out of commission over nothing.”

“Your bedside manner is terrible.”

“It’s excellent, I just have no intention of sharing it with you,” he replied with a droll look.

Bulma threw her head back, slamming the book down on her lap. “You’re a parody of yourself sometimes.”

The chair scraped across the floor, and she opened her eyes to find Vegeta dragging the clothes laden chair across the room and setting it a few metres in front of her. He took a seat, arms and legs crossed, brow furrowed.

“What are you doing, exactly?”

“Hm.”

“ _ ‘Hmm _ ’?” She mimicked, copying his shrug.

“It should be obvious,” Vegeta said, tersely. “For someone who claims to be such a genius at everything you seem to struggle with even the most basic deductions.”

Bulma opened her mouth to argue, and slammed it shut again, squinting. After a moment, and a flew, long blinks, she probed a little. “Do you think I’m putting this on?”

He uttered a short, sharp laugh. “No, I definitely recall you tripping over yourself and having a sprain.”

Raising her brow a hair, Bulma pressed a little further, the hypothesis already forming. “Do you think I’m going to just magically get up and walk away?”

“Tch. No.”

The cackle rose in her throat before she could stop it, a treacherous smile breaching her face. “Oh, no, ohhh no, hold on, hold on, hold  _ on, _ are you  _ concerned _ ?”

Vegeta shot to his feet in an instant, the indignation palpable. “Don’t put words into my mouth, woman! My only  _ concern _ is for the Dragon Balls which you always seem to conveniently forget! Frieza could have his hands on them right now!”

“Ok, ok, calm down, tough guy,” Bulma cooed, throwing her hands up in surrender. “I’m not laughing at you! Besides, Frieza doesn’t have the other Dragon Balls, and they haven’t gone anywhere; I’ve been watching!” Vegeta’s stance relaxed a little, but Bulma couldn’t help herself. “But just for the record, I do think it’s weirdly sweet of you to leer at me from across the room—!”

“I am not  _ ‘sweet’ _ !” He spat the word out like poison. “Vulgar woman, your boorish nature is one of your worst qualities aside from running your mouth.”

“Oho! Geez, if that’s your definition of ‘vulgar’ you’re going to be in for a rude surprise because on top of me thinking it’s sweet, I also think you’re kind of cute,” Bulma yawned with a lazy wink, leaning back into the pillows.

“Shut  _ up! _ ” Sweat formed on his brow, and redness crept into his cheeks. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Bulma shrugged her shoulders, making a face. “Do you want me to explain or do you want me to shut up?”

He shrieked, and the room shuddered. He stormed off, slamming the door hard behind him. The sound of his frustrated screams faded, and distantly she heard something crash, like rock shattering, and then silence returned.

God that was a stupid thing to say; she really did run her mouth sometimes.

Bulma placed her book down on top of the clock, and sighed. Staring up at the ceiling, she wrestled briefly between leaving him alone and following him, her hand hovering over the ice pack, before she sighed again, and kicked the ice pack aside. Hauling herself out of bed, she hobbled towards the door, and opened it carefully. The wood sagged, split in half.

She’d expected to find the rest of Capsule house destroyed, but to his credit, Vegeta could recognise when destroying something would be more annoying for him than not destroying it. Limping towards the kitchen, Bulma busied herself piling her arms high with bread, a whole packet of ham and vegetables, listening out for anymore distant crashes or screaming. He was probably sulking, or destroying something far away, although she hadn’t heard him take off yet—

“If you’re still around, I’m sorry I upset you!” She called into the empty house, carefully piling on layers of ham and cheese, much more than she would have for herself. “I was only teasing!”

No answer; not that she really expected one. If he was still around he’d have definitely heard her though, experience had taught her that even Goku and even Gohan could hear someone whispering through walls.

Picking up the plate and towering sandwich, she hobbled to the the front door, which had been mercifully spared the same fate as it’s bedroom counterpart. At the mouth of the cave, she spotted a lonely figure, perched on a rock with their arms crossed tightly across their chest.

“Hey,” Bulma offered, stopping a few metres short of him. “Hope I didn’t spook you!”

Vegeta grunted.

Bulma limped forward, plate in hand, and paused beside him. She nodded to the rocks he sat on, clearing her throat. “Is there room for one more?”

He didn’t move, so Bulma stepped around, and planted herself on the rock beside him, deliberately pushing him until he conceded a few, measly inches. She put the plate on her lap, and looked out at the hills and rocky bluffs of Namek, the wind rippling through the blue meadows.

“You know,” she said, keenly aware of how he stiffened. “Some people tease each other because they think it’s fun, and it’s meant to be friendly,” she explained. “I guess I thought you and I had… hmm, I don’t know, not a  _ good  _ relationship, but a good enough one that you’d know I wasn’t trying to be actually malicious to you, but I took it too far. I wanted to apologise.”

He stole a glance in her direction, his mouth a thin, unhappy line, and she realised how fruitless this exercise was going to be.

Bulma drummed her fingers on the bottom of the plate, and plunged right in anyway. “So, I’m sorry I made fun of you, and said you were cute even though the last thing isn’t bad and I do really actually think it and it’s true but anyway here is a monster sandwich I made for you. You could say it’s a ‘ _ I’m sorry I made you sad-which _ ’! Ha-ha!”

“Hmph. That’s a terrible joke,” he said gruffly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m not really funny when I’m trying to be funny. Anyway, you don’t have to have it if you don’t want to, I just thought you might like something to eat.” She chewed her lip when he didn’t reply, and offered one more olive branch. “When my foot isn’t all swollen and purple and I can walk a little better, I could show you how the radar works.” 

His eyes snapped up to meet to hers, and the regret hit her hard in the chest.

“You’ll show me how it works?” He repeated, slowly. He seemed to hardly believe it either.

Bulma hesitated, but nodded. “Yeah, I’ll show you.”

“The only thing stopping me from killing you is that I don’t know how to work the radar, and if you show me, then there is no reason for me to keep you alive.”

Swallowing hard, Bulma nodded again. “I know. Think of it as a show of trust.”

He held her gaze, and she could feel him searching her eyes for some hidden meaning, some secret or plot. “Are you that confident I won’t dispose of you?” He asked, voice low.

“No.” She slipped off the rock, wincing, and placed the plate where she’d sat. “I put like half a pig worth of ham on that sandwich too, and before you complain, I put the tomato and the lettuce there because that’s what you’re supposed to do, and maybe it’ll stop you having a heart attack before you’re forty.”

She thought she saw something tugging at the corners of his mouth, but it was quickly crushed under his usual stony expression. She brushed past him with one last ditch attempt at an inviting smile, but he didn’t budge. Hobbling back to the Capsule House, she wondered, briefly, why she hadn’t been all that frightened by his threat.

She stole a last glance back at him, hunched over on the rock, and saw the plate was empty, and that a certain someone was taking big, hasty bites before anyone caught him.

 

***

 

Vegeta’s hand hovered over the door ready to knock, and after a moment, he pressed down on the handle and shouldered the door wide. Squinting against the sudden light, he immediately headed to the kitchen, shoulders tensed but sights set on the fridge and pantry. The ‘sandwich’ had been adequate, as usual, but not enough to satisfy.

He opened the fridge with a grunt, eyeing the packed shelves; he’d still not been able to figure out half of the foods kept in all these plastic containers, and he still had no idea how to prepare them. He momentarily entertained the idea of just eating something cold and straight from the box but—and he hated admitting it—he preferred when  _ she _ made it. It wasn’t like it was especially good either, he just preferred it.

That blasted woman and her cooking had made him soft; he wouldn’t have even thought twice about ripping into whatever food was stored here before her.

Closing the fridge, he eyed the stone countertops. The woman’s papers were strewn across the surface, with a long cold mug of something next to the remains of the scouter. She’d taken it apart, piece by piece, meticulously recording reach component inside her bulging notebook, and judging by the scrunched up papers that littered the floor since she obviously didn’t know what a  _ bin _ was, she’d drawn a few failures as well.

Vegeta reached for the notebook, and paused, listening.

He couldn’t hear her, or the incessant humming she produced whenever she was alone, and once he was satisfied, he snatched up the notebook. He flicked through the pages hastily, scanning them, looking for some hidden secret or upper hand he could have over her. Each page was filled with diagrams and hastily scrawled notes that he could barely make out. 

_...seems similar to liquid crystal on silicon and LED illuminated display, but far more advanced and powerful, very similar to smart glasses? Works on a similar level, but the compounds used to create it are unknown… _

Leaning against the counter, his tail brushing the tiled floor, he turned the pages a little slower, and took the time to read a few of them.

In truth, he’d never really considered how the scouters worked, only that they did. He knew how to fix them if they broke, of course, and he knew how all the pieces fit together but he wouldn’t have been able to describe it, much less write it down with the same detail she managed.

Thumbing the page, he paused on a list of very carefully printed words in Galactic Standard that she’d copied from the scouter’s visual display. Beside them, she’d written several vague guesses of what they might mean, and a series of question marks.

Vegeta slammed the notebook shut, and held it, thinking.

Finally, he turned on his heel, and headed straight for the bedroom door. He halted abruptly, nostrils flaring at some foul, acrid smelling thing that had been smeared on the crack in the door he’d left. It looked like glue, but it smelled awful. He made a mental note not to break anymore doors, if just to avoid a face full of that smell every time.

He threw open the door, and announced his presence in the usual way: “ _ Earth woman! _ ” It was dark, and in the bed, something moved and groaned. He could see the top of Bulma’s head poking out from the blankets. “Woman, what are you doing?”

A hand thrust out from the blankets, and peeled them back. The woman glared up at him, bleary eyed and half asleep. “What does it look like I’m doing?” She groaned.

“Nothing productive,” Vegeta said. Truly she didn’t understand the urgency of their situation.

“Are you just going to stand there and yell at me?” She asked, pushing her hair back out of her face and sitting up.

Vegeta pulled out the notebook from under his arm, flicking to the page he wanted before he brandished it in front of her face. “You can’t read Galactic Standard,” he announced, rather generously he thought.

“What gave it away?” Bulma asked, yawning, before barking, “hey! Those are  _ my notes _ !”

“Yes?” He pointed to the words on the page, one by one, and read them out. “Power level, energy signature, north, east, west, south, units. You may thank me in your own time.”

Bulma frowned, leaned over to the dresser, feeling around for something until her fingers closed around a pencil. She ripped the notebook from his hands, and started writing translations underneath each word. She’d hesitate for a moment, pencil poised above the blank line, and Vegeta would grunt the word again. If she’d listened well enough the first time he wouldn’t have to repeat himself constantly, but he decided to keep that comment for himself.

She lowered the pencil, tapping the end on the page. Turning to him, brow knit, she studied him for a moment as if trying to take him apart and figure out his components as well. “Can you understand this stuff?” She asked, gesturing to the scribbled page.

“I could if it was half way legible,” he said, stiffly. She fixed him with that intense stare of hers, and he grit his teeth, and his tail went to arch up. She glanced away, and the spell broke.

“I know how the  _ scouter _ works, if that’s what you mean.” He balked at his own words.

Bulma kicked the covers off, and Vegeta turned away before he caught sight of her bare legs as she scrambled off the bed. She talked while she hopped around, pulling on some loose pants: “One of the ways I try and figure out how stuff works is by taking it apart piece by piece, and then putting it all back together again like a jigsaw puzzle,” she explained, stepping over piles of discarded clothing, and grabbing some soft woollen overshirt from a mound on the chair. He didn’t know what a jigsaw puzzle was, but he understood the logic; he’d done the same.

“The scouter is made out of stuff I don’t recognise, they’re not compounds you would find on Earth, and like, it’s not that much different from the LED headset displays I’ve used in the past, it gets there in a completely backwards way. Ours use an angled prism to reflect a projection back into our eyes, but these—it’s like the visor itself is a monitor or a display on its own, but completely transparent.”

“Obviously,” he said through his teeth, and followed her out of the room.

Pulling the stool up to the counter, she slapped the notebook down and swept the jumble of parts towards her. She leaned over the book, studying her diagrams and notes before carefully selecting the corresponding pieces among the rubble. Vegeta fidgeted with the edge of his gloves, watching her frustratingly hesitate before picking up the parts he knew fit together, gingerly testing them before she reached for some poor excuse for an omnitool—

“What material is the headset base made of?” She asked, slotting two pieces together and screwing. “It’s like a cross between hard silicone rubber and para-aramid fibres, or some extremely durable but light polyethylene...”

“It’s the same material used in ships and armour,” Vegeta cut her off with a shrug. “It’s a multi purpose material, highly versatile, they use it for everything.”

“It’s so light and flexible! When they normally make these, they’re weighed down with all the components—and the interface is surprisingly simple, I can figure it out and I don’t even understand the language! I suppose displays and user interface  _ would _ be similar, there are only so many ways you could arrange it that would be easily navigated by anyone—this would support the idea of simultaneous invention! A problem faced by two independent groups who both come up with the same solution despite having no contact, but instead being solved across planets and galaxies!” She beamed, her face glowing as she slowly put the pieces of the scouter back together, scrawling extra notes down in the margins in a frenzy.

In the moment she paused to write own in big letters “multiple discovery theory”, Vegeta pulled the skeleton of the scouter towards himself, and started putting it together quietly. He was getting sick of looking at it half done.

“This is so exciting! This is just scratching the surface, of course but already this is more complex and advanced than anything we would have access to on Earth, I’d be the first person looking at something like this! The first person to interact with and to document completely alien substances and inventions!”

Vegeta shot her a warning look; there was only one alien here and it wasn’t him.

“Do you know what the base elements are? Do you have your own names for them? What does the scouter run on? I can’t find anything resembling a battery inside it. Does it use electricity or something else to power it?”

Vegeta adjusted the scouter screen, holding it up to his eye, the screen lighting up. He placed it down just beside her notebook, and waited. The woman reached for something, and her hand brushed the scouter. “Y-you fixed it?” She exclaimed.

“Yes, it so happens your planet is so technologically impaired you can’t even  _ break _ a scouter if you tried.”

“I wasn’t trying to break it and it wasn’t broken! I just didn’t know you knew how to fix it—!” She started, face going red.

“I already told you, woman! I know how to fix and work them!” He winced at how loud he’d raised his voice, and then added, a little quieter, but just as firm, “I couldn’t tell you how or why they work, just how it comes together and how to make it work—but then again I only really concern myself with information that is practical.” He waited, as always, for her usual sarcastic remark to parry his, but she didn’t rise to the bait. He thought he’d be disappointed, and was surprised when he wasn’t.

“Oh, same!” Bulma chirped, turning the scouter over in her hands to check his work. “I mean, not anymore, but when I first started I just pulled stuff apart and knew how all the wires and bits worked without really understanding the process or the names for what was occurring, it was only when I started studying it more seriously that I got a proper grasp on it.”

“Good for you,” he mumbled, watching her slip the scouter on over her ear. It fell off to the side, too big for her head, but she held it in place. 

“Great! So, let’s see how this works,” she said, reaching up and pressing the button on the side. The visor beeped, and text flew across the screen. Bulma’s grin grew, if possible, even wider, and she greedily snatched up her notebook again, flipping to the page with his translations. “How is power or ki or whatever measured?” She asked, curiously, scrolling through displays using the pad on the side.

“How the hell should I know?”

“Ok, ok, easy there, homeboy,” she said, leering at him through the scouter screen. “What is it measured in?”

“ _ H-homeboy? _ Ugh, its measured in units.”

“Units of what?”

He must have made a face because she ignored him and said, “fine, ok! Well, let’s see what I can measure…”

Tapping the end of his boot again, Vegeta grunted and looked away. It was all stupid, pointless drivel, half of which he didn’t understand nor cared to, but… he watched her trying to decipher his power level on the scouter, leaning across the counter a hands breadth away from his face as if being closer would somehow make it easier to understand. She did make things interesting, if nothing else.

“I can’t work this out—how do I read power levels?” She asked with a defeated moan.

Vegeta held out his hand, and she passed the scouter over. He held it up to his ear, not bothering to set it properly and scrolled through the previous readings. “It does it automatically when you look at something,” he explained, though he didn’t know why he bothered. “The scouter can track particular power levels, and inform you if a high power level enters a pre-set radius.”

“Very cool,” Bulma whistled, putting the scouter back on. “What’s your power level then, Mr Vegeta?”

He glared, and shrugged, muttering something under his breath hoping she wouldn’t hear him.

“What was that?” She asked, a thread of mocking entering her voice. “Where’s all that  _ ‘I’m the strongest of them all! I’m a Saiyan warrior elite _ ’ talk gone now?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, woman! You’re forgetting who you’re talking to.”

“Clearly I’m not since I just did a great impression of you, once again,” she laughed. “Don’t avoid the question, what’s your power level?”

An angry flash of ki surged through his arms, but he quashed it down. There was no use to being angry, the woman took that as a victory. If it was anyone else, he’d snap their neck.

“I don’t know, great Earth scientist!” He returned, trying not to grip the counter too hard. “Shouldn’t you be able to figure it out? Or should I just kill you and go get someone else who is more competent and cooperative?”

“Pfft, good luck with that.”

“With what?!” He blurted, letting go of the counter before he crushed it.

The scouter beeped.

“Finding anyone else to put up with you,” she said, a smirk tugging at her lips. She frowned at the visor, the scouter’s beeping becoming louder and more insistent. “Whose power level is it measuring now? It’s going nuts!”

“ _ Mine! _ ”

Ki rippled down his spine, thrumming in his chest, and with a snarl he buried his head in his hands, willing it down. He couldn’t count on Frieza not having any other scouters on him, he couldn’t risk losing his temper over something so  _ inane _ .

“Alright, I can tell we’re done here.” Placing the scouter down, the woman hopped off the stool and headed for the fridge. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

“What?” Vegeta shouted, teeth gnashing, ki still lingering on his tongue.

“I’m hungry and you’re as good of a reason as any to make something that isn’t just coffee and crap,” she called, flicking the kettle on.

“You can’t just placate me with food!”

“It’d be a miracle if I could.” She turned to him, holding two packets of noodles. “Beef or chicken? Keeping in mind, both of these are going to have egg and whatever else I can find because I don’t think noodles by themselves are enough.”

His gut twisted. The gall she had to speak to him like this—!

“Beef,” he growled.

“Great!”

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” he said, the words forcing their way out of his mouth before he could stop them. 

Bulma winked, offering a coy smile over her shoulder. “You know it!”

 

***

 

The second Vegeta finished stacking his fifth empty bowl of ramen, he shouted. “Radar!”

Bulma shovelled the last of her meal down, and jerked her head towards her room, chewing. He didn’t move, and she rolled her eyes.

“It’s on my bedside drawers,” she explained, wiping her mouth. He stayed where he was, his scowl growing darker, and she threw her hands up with a moan. “Geez, really? I’m still eating, it’s not that hard to walk ten whole steps to get it.”

“Why don’t you get it then if it’s so easy?” Vegeta asked with a smirk. Bulma took another mouthful of noodles, and shrugged her shoulders. “You’re wasting time!”

When she didn’t immediately jump to obey him, she saw his jaw twitch, and tried to hide her smile when he slid off the stool with a grunt. A few moments later, he emerged from the bedroom, turning the radar over in his hands with an unreadable expression. Bulma finished her noodles, pushing the bowl away and held out her hand for it, but he made no move hand it over.

The seconds dragged by, and he frowned down at the screen, tilting it ever so slightly to peer at the main button, and ports along the side, and some fear crawled into the space between her heart and her lungs. She could see him breaking it, crushing it between his fingers. She could see him turning it on and understanding it with ease, and realising he didn’t need a translator anymore.

“Don’t think I have forgotten your offer, woman,” he said, quietly. He held out the radar, and Bulma snatched it despite herself. The corner of his mouth quirked into a knowing smile, and he turned away, heading for the door. “Hurry up, tell me where the nearest Dragon Ball is.”

Fumbling, Bulma turned the radar on, eyeing the back of Vegeta’s head. She forced herself to take a deep breath, and settle the anxiety bubbling away in her stomach before she peered down at the screen.

“The nearest one looks like it’s about twenty kilometres away, south-southeast, between some cliffs and by a large body of water, maybe a lake,” she said.

“And the others?”

“There’s still five, and they’re still all together.”

He nodded, his tail flexing as he wound it around his waist. She slipped the radar away into her pocket, and grabbed a pair of boots from by the door, pulling them on roughly. She felt his gaze on her, watching her intently before he declared, matter of factly, “you’re not coming.”

“Why not?” She asked, hopping around trying to work on a boot over her injured foot without toppling over. He grabbed the back of her shirt, and she froze, waiting to be thrown aside, but he just held her, and she realised he was holding her upright.

“‘ _ Oh, my ankle is sprained, I’m in so much pain, I couldn’t possibly walk _ ’,” he mocked.

“I do _ not _ sound like that!” Bulma snorted, finally managing to work the boot over her sore ankle, and setting it down on the ground carefully to test. With a compression bandage and a solid boot, she could walk, even if it was with a limp. When both feet were on the ground, he released her shirt.

“You talk so incessantly that I’ve got a very good idea of what you sound like.” God, now that one was almost a good joke _.  _ “You’re not coming.”

“I have the radar though!” Bulma insisted, ignoring his comment and following him out the front door into the cave. “Oh, what, you’re just going to fly around blindy until you happen upon it?”

“I’m going to use the directions you just gave me and the neat little trick your weakling friends taught me to find a Namek village, actually,” he said. “Besides, you’ll only slow me down, much more than usual in your present self-inflicted state.”

“And what if someone finds me here? What if they kidnap me for the radar as well?” Bulma asked, putting her hands on her hips.

“I’d say ‘good luck’ to them! Now, get lost—!”

She grabbed him around the middle, and he froze in place. “Nope, I’m coming with!”

“W-woman!” His hands itched to grab hold of her wrists and wrench them free but he didn’t seem to be able to carry it through. Bulma tightened her hold, and he almost tripped. “Let go this instant!” 

“If you’re so tough then  _ make me! _ ”

“ _ Fine I will! _ ” He spat, and walked forward, dragging her along through the dirt, his arms out to avoid even inadvertently touching her. He trudged out into the sunlight, and twisted back to see her face, a nasty smirk plastered across his features. “Don’t fall!”

He kicked off with a sudden blast of ki, and Bulma’s stomach lurched. Vegeta shot up with the force of a rocket, and she started to slip, the wind ripping the scream from her throat. He adjusted his path, straightening out, and she used the brief moment of weightlessness to grab her wrists, and lock herself in place with white knuckled fear. The world passed in a terrifying blur, the wind stinging and making her eyes water. Bulma bowed her head, pressing her cheek hard up against the back of Vegeta’s armour, and hoped to God she didn’t vomit. He pulled to a grinding halt, and she slammed into his back with a hard — _ oof! _

Her arms shook, palms slick with sweat and threatening to lose their grip. Vegeta kept his arms up and well away from her, as if wading mid air, and shouted “there’s a cluster of power levels nearby!”

“ _ Uugh _ .”

“They’re not Frieza’s men, so that means a Namek village!” He said, and Bulma thought, dully, he’d forgotten that she was there, until he looked over his shoulder back at her and sneered, “let’s liberate that Dragon Ball of theirs, shall we?”

Bulma opened her mouth to shout at him, but he took off, and every organ in her body turned as he headed for some distant point between the flat top mountains and cliffs. After an age, Bulma’s limbs numb and heavy, Vegeta finally slowed. She slid down and he reached back just in time, grabbing her forearm and hauling her up again before letting go. Far below, the telltale beetle like houses of a Namekian village crowded along on the edge of a river, with wide tracts of hoed earth and farmland.

“Ha! This must be it,” Vegeta said. Bulma lifted her head wearily, and saw that he had that same manic, gleeful grin on his face he had just before he vapourised Cui. He reached down again, this time grabbing her under the armpit and throwing her up like a doll before his arm caught her around the middle, knocking the wind out of her. “I don’t want you hanging off me like a parasite when we land,” he explained with a grunt.

They descended, and below, Bulma spied the villagers emerging from their houses or from the fields, looking up at them warily. Vegeta was certainly strong enough to hold his own against a village of Namekians should they decide to attack, the only issue was that he was likely to be the one to throw the first punch.

They landed softly, and Vegeta dropped Bulma like she burned. He strode off towards the village, his head high, a dark smile across his face. “Is the village Elder here? I’ve come to take the Dragon Ball off your hands.”

A ripple of worry made its way through the crowd, Bulma catching brief, fearful mutterings.

Her stomach churned, her noodles from earlier threatening mutiny. She stumbled forward, pale faced, and stood at Vegeta’s side. The Namekians crowded around, farming tools and staffs in hand, and Bulma did her best to straighten up, and not look like she was about to vomit.

Vegeta almost vibrated with impatience, the ki trickling down his forearms. “Did I stutter? I asked for your Dragon Ball. So, could you kindly go find your village Elder and hand the Dragon Ball over to me this instant, or I’ll torch everything in a 50 foot radius.”

Vegeta raised his palm, energy collecting in order to give weight to his threat, and Bulma wrenched his arm down. His concentration broke, and the pooled ki in his hand vanished. He grabbed Bulma’s wrist with his free hand and she hissed between her teeth, “ow, ow, Vegeta, don’t!”

His grip loosened, and he instead pried her hand free with something almost resembling guilt. Bulma rubbed her wounded wrist, leaning in close and whispering, “this is  _ not _ how we ask people for their big magic wish ball! Be  _ nice _ .”

“I don’t care! We have no time for civility,” Vegeta spat. “Frieza or his men will come here eventually, and I’ll be damned if I let Frieza get his hands on it before me.”

An elderly Namekian was ushered forward, leaning on a crooked old staff for support as he glanced between the strangers before them, still arguing.

“People will react better if you aren’t rude to them!”

“They react _ faster _ when I threaten them!”

“I don’t care, no threats!”

“Don’t tell me what to do,  _ Bul-ma _ !”

“I’ll tell you what to do all I damn well want,  _ your high-ness _ !”

“I am the Elder of this village,” the Elder spoke slowly and clearly. Bulma and Vegeta spun on the spot, straightening up. Vegeta folded his arms tight across his chest, and Bulma smoothed her hair down hurriedly as the Elder continued. “I hear you come here seeking our Dragon Ball.”

“Yeah, he shouted something about that,” Bulma muttered under her breath, earning an icy look from Vegeta who mouthed something like “SHUT UP”.

“Tell me, why you seek the Dragon Balls? What do you know of them?”

Vegeta bridled at the Elder’s tone, shoulders squaring. “That’s none of your concern! Just hand it over quickly! I know it’s here,” he snarled, holding his empty hand out for emphasis.

The Elder took a step back, regarding him. “I sense much evil in you… I cannot allow you to have our Dragon Ball.”

The angry waves coming off Vegeta were palpable, and Bulma stepped between them. She tried to keep her voice even, and calm: “I apologise on his behalf, sir, it’s nothing personal. We’re not here to try and take your Dragon Ball by force, and we aren’t here to use it for evil. Scouts honor!”

Vegeta huffed. “ _ Scouts _ ?”

The Elder clutched his staff, and the sigh he gave went through his whole body. “I can see  _ you  _ are honest in your intentions, but you must understand, I cannot just give the Dragon Ball to strangers.” He peered past Bulma to Vegeta who was about to physically explode.

“This is a waste of time!” Vegeta stamped a foot, pushing past Bulma and getting in the Elder’s face. “Just give me the damn thing or die!”

“ _ Time out! _ ” Bulma spun him around on the spot, dragging him back a few steps, and bowed her head. “Didn’t you listen to a word I said? They’ll give it to us if we’re not jerks about it, you can’t just show up and say ‘give me the Dragon Ball or everyone dies’!”

“Why the hell not?” He hissed back.

“How would you react if someone kicked down your door and demanded something you owned?”

His mouth flew open to retort, and then shut again. He looked away with a growl, “I’d fight them.”

“Yeah! And so would they!” Bulma explained.

“So?” A ball of ki flared on the end of his index finger, glowing blue. “It wouldn’t be much of one.”

She slapped his hand away, and the ball winked out. “Just let me handle this, I guarantee it’ll be faster.”

There was a grinding sound, and she realised it was his teeth, and for a moment she feared he’d blast them all to pieces, but his back went ramrod straight, and he folded his arms. He looked away with a defeated grunt.

Bulma turned back to the Namekians, forcing a much practiced sweet smile across her face. “Listen to me, I know the Dragon Ball is very important, and I promise, that we are not going to do anything bad with it—” she gave Vegeta a pointed stare and he glared “—But there is another alien out there who will. He’s scouring the planet looking for them and killing everyone who stands in his way, I’m sure you’ve felt him here! If you give us the Dragon Ball, we can make sure that he doesn’t get it.”

“Frieza is merciless and will destroy this planet and countless others if he gets his wish,” Vegeta shouted, pushing past her, letting his tail hang loose and sway back and forth. “That is why I plan to use these Dragon Balls to defeat him! So you either give me the Dragon Ball and have a chance of saving yourself and your pathetic planet, or you die by his hand and have it ripped from your corpse!”

Bulma gawked, mouth open, before she turned back to the Elder. “Look, he’s a real jerk, I get that, but if anyone was going to take out Frieza and kick his ass it would be  _ him _ . I promise we’re not going to hurt you or anyone else except Frieza.”

The Elder let out another shuddering sigh. “We have felt the other villages vanishing, and heard stories of the horrors of what’s happening,” he explained, carefully. “It is like nothing I have seen before.”

Bulma reached out, and took hold of his wrinkled old hand in hers, squeezing tight. “This is the only chance we have to get rid of Frieza, I promise the wish won’t be abused.”

The Elder worked his mouth, and she could see him thinking the words over in his head. Finally, after an age, he nodded to another old Namekian, who rushed off into one of the houses. The Elder leaned on his staff, freeing his hand and taking Bulma’s in his instead. “I believe you,” he said.

The other Namekian emerged from the house, holding a great, orange sphere at arm’s length, its surface gleaming in the sun. She knew the Namekian Dragon Balls were bigger than Earth’s, but she had no idea just how big. It was like a beach ball of solid amber, with red stars suspended in its centre that always seemed to face the viewer regardless of angle.

Vegeta rushed forward, eyes wide and a smirk worming its way across his mouth. Bulma shouldered him out of the way, and held her hands open with another forced smile. The other Namekian glanced to the Elder who rolled his eyes, and nodded.

The Namekian pushed it into Bulma’s hands, and she almost dropped it. The Dragon Ball was surprisingly heavy, the surface cold and smooth as marble. Bulma held it close to her chest with both hands, bowing her head. “Thank you!  _ Thank you _ . We are honored!”

“Alright, we’re done here,” Vegeta announced, already walking away. “Woman! Let’s go.”

Bulma stepped back, bowing again, and bumping her crown on the Dragon Ball with a curse. A cool hand grasped hers, and the Elder leaned in. “Be wary,” he lulled. “Your companion’s heart is cruel, and quick to violence. I sense much evil in him.”

Bulma shuffled the Dragon Ball around to rub the red mark on her forehead, muttering, “tell me something I don’t know.”

“But if this Frieza is worse than him, then I have no choice but to aid you, and only hope that your good intentions are enough.” He held her hand firm, and some unexplained feeling welled in her chest. She frowned down at her hand in his, mouth dry, and became aware of the weight on her shoulders. Finally, he released her, and she juggled the Dragon Ball under one arm. The Elder held her gaze for a moment, before he gave her a final, hopeful nod, the other Namekians closing in around him.

Bulma gulped, and bowed a few more times for good measure, before turning on her heel and hobbling over to where Vegeta stood, his shoulders hunched and tapping his foot impatiently. He turned his head when she approached and made a thoughtful sound. “I thought they would at least try to hide it.”

“Well, _ see,  _ Vegeta,” she said with deliberately charming smile, and relished in how uncomfortable it made him. “People are more willing to give you what you want if you are nice to them!”

“Tch. Whatever. We’re walking,” he announced, heading off away from the village, eyes closed. She limped after him, ball in hand, following him down to the edge of the water. The land curved around into cliffs and narrow beaches, clear green water lapping up against the shore. Some frogs croaked in the mud, and foreign bugs sang in the warm glow of the distant suns, and soon the village vanished behind the rocky hills. The Dragon Ball started to slip in her hands, and she moved it around again awkwardly, her ankle aching.

Vegeta ignored her, heading in a straight line down the beach, stepping over rocks and driftwood while Bulma weaved in and out between them, her ankle twinging with each step. 

Finally, she gave up.

“Aren’t you going to be a gentleman and offer to carry the pretty lady’s luggage?” She called over the top of the Dragon Ball’s curve. Up ahead, Vegeta huffed, and didn’t respond. “ _ Ugh! _ Fine! What’s with the interest in walking all of a sudden?”

He mumbled something.

“What?”

“I can’t carry you and the Dragon Ball at the same time!” He shouted, throwing his arms down.

“ _ Oooooh _ !” Bulma laughed. “Excuse me? Is that chivalry I detect?”

“Don’t flatter yourself! I’d rather carry the Dragon Ball myself but seeing as you keep almost falling I’ll have to use both hands to prevent your premature death, leaving you to carry it, and I don’t trust you to not sabotage me by dropping it!” He snapped.

“I’m carrying it for you right now, you dweeb,” Bulma pointed out.

Vegeta stopped so fast he may as well have run into an invisible wall. He marched over to her stiff legged, snatching the Dragon Ball from her hands with a dark scowl. He seemed to search her face for a moment before wrenching his gaze away and inspecting the Dragon Ball quickly, and clearing his throat. “Now, then, as for this thing…”

He tossed it, and Bulma’s mouth fell open. The Dragon Ball soared through the air in a graceful arc, the amber surface flashing liquid gold in the sunlight, before it fell into the water with a deep, heavy splash.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Bulma shouted, pulling at her hair, the water settling and bubbles trailing to the surface. “Oh my god, oh my god why did you  _ throw _ it into the water!?”

Vegeta’s smug smile returned with a vengeance, and he laughed, hands on his hips. “Submerging it ensures it stays hidden from everyone. We’re the only ones who know it’s here.”

“Yeah! And it’s underwater!”

“Stop complaining! I can go back and get it later, but hiding one Dragon Ball means that Frieza won’t be able to collect all seven,” Vegeta explained, his superior veneer cracking. “He has no way to track the Dragon Balls and we do!”

Dragging her hands down her face, Bulma tore herself away from the rippling water. Insects droned, and frogs hidden along the shoreline croaked. Bulma stepped back, staring out across the horizon, the water dripping gold, lapping up against the shore. Vegeta went to say something, and her hand shot up for silence. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, filling her lungs to the brim, before she started:

“ _ That’s the stupidest God damn plan under the sun! It’s safer where we can see it and keep an eye on it! And another thing, why the hell would I sabotage you? My friends are dead, I’m on my own, I’m stuck on a planet where everyone is trying to kill me and you’re the only dumbass I’ve got to rely on! I’ve done nothing but help you and cook for you, and now you’re just going to throw the magic beach ball that’s our only chance of getting off this planet alive into a muddy lake rather than trust me to hold it for you for five God damn minutes?! _ ”

Her screams faded, and even the ocean stilled. Vegeta stood rigid as a stump, eyes wide. He gulped, the colour slowly returning to his cheeks. “I-I’m not a dumbass!”

She ripped his arm from his side. “Shut up and take me back to the stupid cave!”

Holding his breath, Vegeta reached around her gingerly and placed a hand on her waist as if he feared she might shatter in his grip. If she wasn’t so sick of the whole thing, she might have teased him.

Bulma braced for lift off, but Vegeta kicked off lightly. He flew relatively slowly, and Bulma could make out the landscape clearly, high plateaus and cliffs jutting up out of the rugged blue hills and green tributaries all winding down into deep lakes and seas.  Once they’d gained some height, she felt him shift his grip, and took the hint, bowing her head to the wind as he shot forward. With the wind in her face, her rage crumbled, and gave way to guilt.

Everything about this situation was terrible.

She’d thought that by agreeing to aid Vegeta in finding the Dragon Balls she would have been prepared to backstab, betray and crawl her way out of the muck on top to wish everyone back and fix this mess. Up until now, Vegeta had been a tool, a strong arm to get the Dragon Balls for her and keep her safe, but now—she didn’t know what he was to her, and now that she’d seen Frieza, seen the destruction he was capable of, she understood and that he was prepared to do the same for his own wish. She didn’t like admitting it, but his idea made more sense.

The minutes passed with the howling of the wind and canyons and islands rolling out beneath them until Vegeta slowed, and headed towards a familiar looking cliff side and cave. They landed and the moment his boot touched the grass he let go of her, and she wobbled on the spot, arms out.

“Perhaps I was wrong.”

He said it so softly, so sincerely, Bulma thought she’d misheard him. “ _ Huh? _ ”

He looked as sick as Bulma felt, and when he spoke his voice was a stiff as his stance, “I suppose you would not have dropped it, on purpose anyway.”

It took all her mettle not to turn around and slap herself out of this fever dream.

“Thanks,” she said, before adding, more honestly, “I appreciate it.” Her hand reached for his arm out of habit, but she thought better of it, and instead said, “thanks for listening to me as well and not hurting anyone, I-I, uh, really,  _ really _ appreciate that too.”

“Hmph, fine, but my plan isn’t stupid and it’s better than just keeping it here and waiting like a sitting duck.”

“H-how do you even know that phrase? Do you know what a duck is?”

“No, and I don’t care to know,” he grumbled, storming past her towards the cave, his tail arched high.

After a few moments, Bulma followed, her head spinning.

She opened the door to Capsule house, and found him bent forward on the couch, rubbing his eyes hard enough to blind. She circled around to the kitchen, regarding him. She’d seen him angry, grumpy, mad, and frustrated but this was the first time she’d really ever seen him look thoroughly exhausted, and even, dare she even say it,  _ upset _ .

He pulled off his gloves, and he peered at hands critically, before stuffing the gloves into a pocket in his jumpsuit, frowning off into space. Bulma worked her mouth around a question she’d been wondering for days.

“Why do you want to become immortal to defeat Frieza?”

He scowled, and asked, darkly, “why, are you going to proclaim that stupid as well in your professional opinion?”

“No,” she replied. “But why not just wish for him to be dead? Or to not exist?”

“Because I want to kill him myself.” He said it with such potency, such loathing, it send a shudder up and down her spine. “And I will, even if it takes me a hundred deaths, I am the one who will be his downfall. I want him to die by my hand, by the hand of Saiyan, and a warrior.” He cracked his knuckles, pulling absentmindedly at his fingers. This was a promise, something he’d said to himself thousands of times until it became part of his being. “A Saiyan becomes more powerful with each defeat, and if I am immortal, then each defeat will lead me to become stronger, until I am able to surpass him, and put my hand around his throat.”

“Why not just wish to become stronger?” Bulma started to ask, but the moment the question left her lips she knew she’d touched a nerve.

“Ha! Of course you’d jump to that conclusion. That’s a coward’s way out, why wish to become stronger when I can become stronger on my own, by my own desire and will? I want to defeat Frieza with my own power, which I know I will achieve, if given the space, and time. I don’t care how long it takes.” He leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t expect any member of your weakling race to understand that, however,” he said airily.

She shrugged, unclipping her fanny pack and setting it on the kitchen counter. “Well, that does sound an awful lot like something Goku would say, if I’m totally honest.”

“Who?” He asked, squinting. “You mean Kakarot? Tch. That buffoon was made soft by your planet, he admitted as much.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Bulma said, opening the freezer and reaching for another ice pack. “But I suppose he was still Saiyan; he always went on about training and becoming stronger as well, and believed in working hard to get there.”

“Too bad it didn’t help him in the end!” Vegeta said, but there was no burn to his words. Bulma limped over to the couch, and sat beside him, ice pack in one hand, tea towel in another. She noticed him inch away, but ignored it, wrapping the ice pack up and removing her boot carefully. He grunted, and muttered something.

“Sorry? I didn’t hear.”

“I  _ said _ you shouldn’t have walked on it. You would have only aggravated it stomping around like you do.”

“From memory, you’re the one who suggested walking,” she said, bending down and holding the ice to the swelling.

“You’re the one who insisted on coming! At least raise it instead of hunching over like a fool, you’re trying to ease swelling not give yourself a crone’s back,” he declared, putting his dirty boots up on the coffee table.

Bulma made a face, but leaned back, and copied his position, balancing the ice pack carefully on her ankle. “Oh! Well, look at you, a prince  _ and  _ a doctor! Is there no end to your credentials?”

“You’d be surprised at the number of talents I possess, woman. I only mention it because you being incapacitated is inconvenient for me.”

“I’m joking, you’re being nicer to me about this than I was expecting. Frankly, you’ve handled it better than any of my friends, they all would have said I was just putting it on because I’m a weak girl and tried to look down my shirt while saying so. Although Goku probably wouldn’t have done the last part, at least not in the way the others do.”

Vegeta almost fell off the couch. “ _ What?! _ ” 

“I mean, I think at multiple points you’ve called me a weak  _ Earthling _ but—anyway, the point is, I think you’re the only guy I’ve met thus far who hasn’t at some point: a. tried to touch my chest, b. tried to touch my ass, or c. commented on either of those and deigns to show me at least a little respect.”

“ _ Why the hell would anyone want to do any of that? _ ” He shouted, voice hoarse, redness spreading all the way down his neck and into both ears.

She shrugged, and gave a short, sad laugh. “I know why, and it doesn’t make me feel any better about it, trust me.”

She went to bite her nails again, but firmly placed her hands in her lap, settling to fiddle with the hem of her shirt, staring hard at her ankle.

Everything was becoming too complicated.

***

 

Vegeta avoided looking at her. He crossed his arms tight across his chest, keeping as far away from her without surrendering the rest of the couch to her, but he was still painfully aware of her presence, and the heat from her closeness. His hands itched for something to do, for something to fight and get a hold of. More and more he found that the woman’s ability to get inside his head was starting to make him uncomfortable. She had some uncanny way to draw out foreign emotions and feelings from him like infection from a wound.

She moved beside him, and a screen was thrust under his nose. “This is my dad’s cat, Scratch,” Bulma supplied, smiling weakly. Vegeta glanced down at the screen, a small, black animal with great eyes staring back. “Have you seen a cat before?”

Vegeta clicked his tongue. “No.”

“They’re nice, they’re like hairy little beans on legs, they have tails like yours,” Bulma explained, bringing the screen back and flicking through dozens of photos of the same, little black thing. Vegeta decided to let that comment slide this time. She pulled up an image of herself holding the animal like a newborn, and laughed, “she likes being babied. She always sits on my dad’s shoulder when he’s working.”

“Ok,” Vegeta grunted.

“I hate saying this but, I think I miss her more than I miss the others.” Her voice became hollow, and Vegeta forced himself to turn his head and look in her direction. She stared down at her hands, head hung. “Goku died before, we brought him back with the Dragon Balls, but he told us what happened after you die, and… part of me isn’t concerned about the others. Goku talked about it like it was a big training thing, he got to keep his body and everything!”

Vegeta couldn’t hide his scoff. “Oh, you weren’t aware of that?”

“What—? Was like, everyone except Earth aware that there was some big Check-In Station and an Other World where everyone goes after they die?”

“Yes? Have none of you Earthlings ever met King Yemma or heard of the Kais?” Vegeta asked.

“No? When people die, they generally only do it once,” Bulma replied.

They stared at each other, and Vegeta snorted again. “You really are from a backwater planet!”

She laughed, and he jumped. She shook her head, returning to the phone screen with a shrug, saying in a quiet voice, “well, I guess it’s a good thing. Uh, have you ever... died?”

“No, and I don’t plan to.”

The look she gave him almost made him burst out laughing. She truly wasn’t expecting that reaction. He turned away, grinning to himself over his small victory. In her defence, however, he suspected there were people out there who had never considered or encountered death in the way that he had, or that his race had for eons before him. He just knew it, everyone knew it, it was part of his entire existence, it was part of being Saiyan.

The woman sniffed, hand flying to her face. Vegeta glanced down at the movement, and saw she still clutched the screen in one hand, but this time it was a photo of a young, scruffy haired man holding the black cat from before.

She sniffed again, said, her voice even, “I think it’s all just hitting me now. So much has been happening I just haven’t had time to think about them back home.”

She wiped her cheek, and Vegeta realised with horror that she was crying. His head snapped back in front of him, and he stared at the wall intently, his jaw aching. She rubbed her eyes, and uttered some broken sound, “this sucks, it’s so stupid, what am I doing?”

He grunted in response, at least just to prove he’d heard her, and not have her question him. She moved, and the icepack started to slip, teetering on the edge of the coffee table until he reached out and stopped it. She didn’t seem to notice.

“Why am telling you any of this? I know you don’t care!” She moped, sniffling again, her cheeks and nose turning blotchy. “I’ve been trying to distract and distance myself from what happened the entire time I’ve been here, I insisted on coming with you because I don’t want to be alone and think about it! But I miss home, I miss my cat, I miss my parents, I miss my friends, and fuck, I miss everyone even if they treated me like dirt!”

“Uh.”

Bulma buried her face in her hands with another low, wavering moan, and Vegeta swallowed hard. He’d seen people crying, of course, he had seen tears streaming when they were faced with the possibility of death at his hand, he’d laughed more than once at the futile weeping of others as he prepared a final blow. He had grown used to that, hardened, but this sort of emotion, out of nowhere, and not even directed at  _ him _ , got under his skin.

He cleared his throat, loudly, hoping that at some point she would stop on her own, but she hunched forward, dragging her ankle off the coffee table and the ice pack tumbled onto the floor. His mouth twisted, the words bitter and unnatural on his tongue, and said, dumbly, “that animal you showed me, the cat… it’s—it seemed… nice.”

She threw her hands down, and turned to him snivelling. She laughed, wiping puffy eyes with the back of her hand. “Th-thanks! That—that is not what I was expecting you to say.”

“What should I have said?” He asked, despite himself.

She shrugged, reaching down to pick the ice pack and towel up off the floor. “I dunno, I was expecting you to call me pathetic or whatever again, I was ready to call you an asshole.”

“Hmph, you still are pathetic, it just does not bear repeating,” he grumbled. She laughed again, a little less sadly this time, and nodded, though he figured it was not in agreement.

“Asshole,” she sniffed. “You know, I think that some part of you might just be an alright person under all the…” she gestured to all of him.

He went to say something else, to tell her that being good or bad didn’t matter to him, but she leaned in, her arms around his neck. Her breath caught his, and he froze.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toriyama, answer my emails! My criticism is fair and constructive, I promise
> 
> also today's chapter drawing is based off one of my favourite viral images because its Really Good

 

Bulma realised what she’d done too late, and Vegeta reeled back.

“W-woman!” He slammed his back against the couch, fingers digging into the cushions. All the colour drained from his face, leaving a pallid, trembling shell. “Do not—don’t  _ touch me _ again!” Something shook in his tone, but she couldn’t tell if it was anger or fear.

Bulma gulped, her eyes suddenly dry. “S-sorry, I’m sorry! I shouldn't have done that—I-I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He stared at the floor, every muscle tensed to the point of shattering but didn’t answer. Bulma moved to give him space, scrambling to her feet with a wince. Her ankle throbbed, and she bit down another curse. She limped across to the kitchen, hands shaking. She flicked the kettle on, and tried to busy her hands with making tea, but she fumbled with what were familiar movements.

She didn’t even realise what she was doing until she found her nose pressed to his cheek.

Sorry,” Bulma offered, again, not looking back at him. “I got... carried away, it wasn’t right of me—I shouldn’t have done that, or I should have at least asked.” She tilted her head slightly, and risked a glance in his direction. He was still staring intently at the floor, but he wasn’t backed up against the couch like a startled animal anymore. He flexed his fingers in an anxious movement, and slowly, he lowered his shoulders.

The tension thickened, and Bulma found herself wishing he’d scream or shout or blast something to oblivion already,  _ anything _ to break the awful dread building in the pit of her stomach. Finally, mouth dry, she spoke.

“Hey, uh, why not…” she searched frantically for an excuse. “Go and check on the Dragon Ball, it’s been a while?”

He cleared his throat, and finally looked up from the floor. “It won’t wander.”

She tried again, because something told her, he needed an excuse to leave, at least for a while, instead of sitting here dwelling on her stupid actions. “Or… scout around, see if Frieza’s men are still in the area?”

“Fine,” he said, voice tight. She heard him get to his feet. “With any luck they won’t be all gone, and I can pick off a few for my own entertainment—thought I doubt it’ll be much of a challenge.”

Bulma dropped the box of teabags, and spun around, frowning.

Standing by the lounge, Vegeta looked her up and down, before his smug smirk returned with a vengeance, “try not to injure the rest of your limbs while I’m gone.”

The kettle finished boiling, and Bulma ignored it, dazed.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, gulping, before she added with a casual shrug, “I guess I’ll just figure out some stuff here—I have a few capsules stored that might be helpful. Who knows, I might have a turret or automatic hidden around in somewhere to defend myself with.”

“I doubt anything made with your Earth technology will have any effect on anyone else,” he drawled, working gloves back on, some playful quirk to his lips.

Bulma’s eyes narrowed, and she tested the waters, announcing, “yes, I’m well aware! Thank you very much! I’ve shot Goku enough to know it isn’t exactly effective—it’ll just make me feel better if I do it, even if it's pointless. You know, like a placebo.”

Vegeta raised an eyebrow, pausing part way pulling on his second glove.

She explained, “ah, a placebo is like—ok, we have medicine, you know,  _ medicine _ , like those tanks back on the ship that healed you.”

Vegeta rolled his eyes with a haughty scoff, and Bulma stared, amazed. It was like nothing had happened; he seemed to have completely forgotten about it.

“Don’t patronize me, woman, I know what  _ medicine  _ is!” Vegeta huffed, sounding more like his old self again, which was, Bulma found, a positive relief. “What relevance does any of this have?”

“Well, placebos aren’t actually medicine, it’s fake, but it looks like medicine. So, sometimes if you’re sick, and you are given a medicine and told ‘this will cure you’, and you will get better, not because the placebo has any benefits, but because you believe it does,” Bulma explained.

“But you know weapons will do nothing—!” he countered, but Bulma held up a finger for silence.

“That’s just it, it makes you feel better, even if it doesn’t have any benefit,” she smiled.

Vegeta shook his head. “Woman, I don’t know what point you think you are making, because all you are saying is that your species is so stupid you can trick them into thinking they’re not dying when they are.”

“You’re thinking about this way too much! I just meant that, I know they won’t do much and it will just make me feel more secure than doing nothing. I was just making conversation! Ugh.”

“You say you are a scientist, yet you explained that concept very poorly,” Vegeta sneered. He walked by the kitchen counter, paused, and doubled back. “I suppose you can’t you use your placebo effect on that, can you?” He nodded to her foot.

“It’s not  _ for  _ physical stuff like this it’s just an example of of a psychological phenomena—!” Bulma began but Vegeta cut her off with one of his darkened sneers.

“Pain is partially psychological, I know that much. You only feel it because your nerves tell your brain to.  So, surely those placebos would help in this situation.”

“I don’t think—!” Bulma fumed, frustrated as Vegeta continued to interrupt her.

“You don’t think? Does that mean you aren’t sure? Ha! Perhaps you should get your facts straight,  _ Professor Bul-ma, _ before you start running your mouth about things you do not fully understand yourself..”

“This isn’t fucking debate club! I was just making  _ a passing comment _ —!”

She went to continue, but he gripped the counter with a fierce eagerness she’d only seen a few times before, and she realised that he didn’t care at all about the argument. She leaned back on the counter carefully, and refrained from drumming her fingers across the marble.

He was looking to spar.

If this was at any other time, she would have laughed at the surrealness of it. Of all the possible reactions he could have had—she wasn’t entirely sure if he was looking for an excuse to leave, or if she was. She must have taken too long to respond however, because he lowered his eyes, and he released the counter top with a scowl.

“D-do you want the radar?” She called after him.

He snorted, and closed the door behind him, leaving deafening silence in his wake. Bulma realised she had been holding her breath, and let it out with a low whistle. She abandoned the idea of making tea, and pushing her hair back out of her face, she resolved to take a bath instead.

While the Capsule House was compact, Dr Briefs had not spared a single detail, cramming in every luxury into the space available. The bathroom was round and minimal, the majority of it taken up by a generously deep bath stocked with a number pleasant smelling soaps and colourful bottles.

Bulma flicked on the bathroom fan, and with a smile she noticed her father’s handiwork in the appearance of a sleek music player set into the wall. He had his priorities straight. After selecting some trashy pop playlist, she pulled her shirt over her head, and locked the door firmly.

_ God _ , of all the people available she just had to kiss it had to be that egomaniac—no, that was too mean; he was arrogant definitely, but maybe not completely self absorbed. He was certainly a jerk but maybe he wasn’t entirely emotionally stunted—

_ No _ . All he’d done was say he thought her cat was ‘nice’ and even then it’d felt like he’d strung a random selection of words together to just make her be quiet. Then she had gone ahead and done  _ that _ .

Bulma kicked her clothes aside, climbing into the bath, and started the sisyphean task of washing the grime and dirt that ended up in her hair after only being outside for a few minutes on this humid planet.  Once her hair was clean, she wrapped it in a towel, and turned the bath tap on full, and perused the selection of bottles for anything fun. A bottle of mysterious bubble bath mixture caught her attention, and she squeezed it into the water, and sniffed, gagging.

Cinnamon wasn’t her favourite aroma, but it’d work. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers, Bulma, dear,’ she could hear her mother saying.

Turning off the tap, bath nearly at capacity, she switched the playlist to something more relaxing. She figured that she could at least get an hours worth of soaking in before Vegeta was even close to being back. She threw her head back with a defeated groan. She scolded herself for even thinking his name in the newly christened Relaxation Zone.

It was better to just pretend that she was back on Earth, at home, instead of far, far away, potentially in a position where she may never see her parents or friends or home planet again.

Just pretend that nothing matters and everything is fine. 

***

 

Vegeta turned the village Elder’s head with the end of his boot. Around him clay was churned and scarred, still smoking, and crumpled green bodies lay scattered outside homes or across fields. He’d guessed the outcome when he had sensed no ki coming from the village.

Wrinkling his nose at the smell, he picked his way back between the craters and corpses. Frieza must have just happened upon this village; there would have been no way he would have found it through any sort of sensing, he and his men relied too heavily on their scouters. Judging by the number of bodies dressed in standard issue Frieza force armour, however, those Namekians had more fight in them than it first appeared.

He hoisted the Dragon Ball up higher under his arm, shaking his hair dry.

Well, at any rate, he’d make sure to tell the woman that he was correct, and that they shouldn’t have even bothered—the memory of her touch filled his senses, and he almost bit his own tongue off. He shook himself again, wiping the water from his face before he took off in the direction of the cave.

Every time he tried to push the thought from his mind, it’d return and knock the wind out of him, and every time he found his hands trembling. The fact that it even bothered him so much was proof enough the woman had too much power over him, and that she was dangerous.

The wind sang in his ears, and he dipped to fly along a valley’s curve to avoid being seen although right now, he wouldn’t have minded punching someone’s guts out.

He wasn't completely naive, of course, Raditz and Nappa talked openly about their petty conquests all the time and Vegeta had a rough idea of what was involved. He’d never been interested; personally, it was beneath him, such base vices served only as a distraction from what was going on around you. It was a trick, just like that placebo effect she’d described.

He groaned, face boiling—and he’d fallen for it like some babbling fool!

He ground to a halt, hoping all his useless thoughts would dislodge, but it only left him feeling dizzy. Shaking his head with a heavy sigh, he took off again. He slipped the Dragon Ball in front, holding onto it with both hands, before bowing his head, and picking up speed. The wind stung, but he tightened every muscle, and surged forward through the air. The land fell away into a rush of colour, too quick to follow, the blood pumping.

It was nothing,  _ she  _ was nothing! This was an alliance based on similar needs, a  _ compromise _ ! So why did he feel like his stomach was turning itself inside out?

He landed with a stumble, joints charged, and was genuinely surprised to see he’d landed just outside the cave mouth. A cool breeze blew off the hills, and he took a moment to collect himself and feel around for any hostile kis, but nothing appeared. His neck ached, and he did his best to relax his shoulders, heading for the cave with the Dragon Ball tucked under his arm.

He needed food, something to weigh down whatever vile feeling fluttered in his gut, and he didn’t trust himself or the woman’s Earth technology enough to do it himself. Plus, he thought, shouldering the door open and dumping the Dragon Ball onto the couch, he’d done all the leg work and she’d done nothing but lounge around and milk her pitiful swollen ankle for all it was worth—she owed him this much.

Vegeta paused mid step, listening. She was around, he could sense her weak energy pulsing behind the bathroom door, and hear faint strains of some unrecognisable music. He hadn’t heard much in the way of music during his time in Frieza’s army outside drunken singing and celebration, and he barely remembered the songs on his own planet as a child.

It was pleasant enough, not that he’d ever say that outloud.

His stomach grumbled, and he sunk into the lounge with a pout. The music continued, and he tapped his fingers on the Dragon Ball, its surface ringing. What was taking her so long?

Shoes lay abandoned by the door, kicked away haphazardly, two over shirts over the chair, and plates, cups and glasses stacked high in the sink. The woman had a habit of leaving things where she dropped them. He mirrored the music beat with his fingers, frowning.

Finally, a long while, he threw his head back and shouted, “ _ WOMAN! _ ”

“ _ Oh, fuck! _ ”

There was a heavy splash, and a muffled moan.

Vegeta turned, narrowing his eyes, and drummed his fingers again. If she’d fallen and hurt herself, or worse, it wouldn’t be especially beneficial for him. He rapped his knuckles one last time on the Dragon Ball, getting to his feet with a grunt, and crossed the room. He turned the door handle, and met resistance. Why the hell would she bother locking a door? She’d not done that before. He forced the knob around, wood splitting, and kicked the door open.

“ _ Don’t come in—! _ ” Bulma started to yell, and Vegeta went still. Bubbles spilled over the edge of a great tub, steam filling the air, and Bulma wrenched the shower curtain across herself with a strangled cry. He slammed the door so fast it popped off its hinges, splitting down the middle. Cursing and splashings sounded, and Vegeta hurried stiff legged back to the lounge, his skin going from white to red in a flash.

How was he going to explain this? He didn’t want to admit that even though he’d used the bathroom and he’d figured the tub was for cleaning, it had never occurred to him that she would  _ use  _ it. Why didn’t he think of that? Was he that desperate not to imagine the woman—? The smell still lingered, and now that he was forced to think about it, Bulma had always smelled nice.

Vegeta’s hands flew to his face and cursed. She was too much of a distraction, even for someone as self disciplined as him. Caught up in swearing and trying not to blow a hole in the roof, he didn’t notice the music stop.

 

***

 

The only time Bulma had thrown her clothes on faster was when she was eighteen and her mother had walked in on her and Yamcha unannounced. But that embarrassment was dwarfed by the devastating atomic flash that swept through now, leaving millions dead in a mushroom cloud of complete and utter horror.

Of all the people on this God forsaken rock. Had he seen her? Why had he come in?  _ Did he not know what a lock was or did he just not care? _

She mashed the control pad and the music cut out, and she reached for the door handle, only to find it hanging halfway out, the locking mechanism twisted like paper. He’d slammed that door so hard that it wedged into the frame it splintered. This was the second door in almost as many days, had he really not learned his lesson from the first one?

She banged her fist on the door, and it wobbled.

“Hey, jerk! Not only did you invade my privacy, you’ve also fucking annihilated this door to the point where it won’t open!” She listened, but there was no smug retort. “You better help me out of here or I’ll—!”

She raised her hand to knock again and the door slumped forward with a pitiful creak, and her fist hit his chest. Vegeta stood there, stock still, looking from her face, to her fist, to her face again. She snapped out her index finger so fast he flinched, and she glared at him, pointing to his chest. “ _ Knock. Every. Time. _ ”

She snatched up a fresh towel from under the sink, her clothes becoming damp again from wet hair, and pushed past him towards the bedroom door. She made a show of shutting it, and locking it, all while he stared down at his feet.

She pulled off her wet clothes, drying her hair properly before wrapping it up afresh. She’d had enough of this day, or night, or whatever it was. It was always day on this stupid planet. She was exhausted, she was tired, she needed the safety and comfort of her own bed in her own home on her  _ own _ planet, and all she had right now was hair that smelled like cinnamon and a bathroom door in desperate need of replacement.

She sprayed some deodorant liberally, and got a face full of eucalyptus.  _ As if this day could get any worse? _

Her hands shook, and she let the can slip from her grasp, trying to keep her breathing level. Her eyes prickled, but she wasn’t going to cry. This was not going to be the eucalypt straw that broke the camel’s back. She wasn’t going to let herself breakdown over something so stupid and selfish and petty when there were people out there counting on her; when her planet was counting on her. She kicked the can aside, and it rolled away under the bed. 

Before she went to sleep there was still one more thing to do.

She threw open the bedroom door, standing in the frame in her oversized Capsule Corp t-shirt and baggy sweatpants and ready to scream herself hoarse, but all the rage drained in an instant. Vegeta sat on the lounge, frowning, the Dragon Ball set on his lap and his arms around it. She’d expected him to be sulking, or raiding the fridge, or both, but this was almost genuinely upsetting. He looked like a child.

“What the hell are you doing?” She asked, but she could barely muster enough energy to make them sound half way angry.

He turned his head, chin resting on top of the Dragon Ball and audibly sniffed. “What the hell is that awful smell?” His voice mirrored hers. Neither of them had any energy to put any venom into what they were saying.

Shrugging, she started towards the kitchen. “It doesn’t matter! And for your information, I really want to yell at you for barging in on me and breaking yet another door, but I can’t be bothered right now. Is it okay if I postpone that till tomorrow?”

“There are no day or night cycles on this planet, it’s all today here, but by all means, go ahead, woman.”

She waved away his words. “Unless you really want me to yell at you now, tomorrow can be whenever I wake up.”

“I really have no desire to hear you screaming at any time, actually,” Vegeta grumbled with an irate twitch of his tail. “There is only so much I can physically tolerate.”

“Really? I find that hard to believe! It feels like getting on my nerves is one of your favourite hobbies!”

“Does your vanity really know no bounds?”

“You are just the most insufferable jerk sometimes I swear to Go—!”

A cheery, muffled ringtone cut her off.

Vegeta tensed, fists raised and ready to fight. “What is that? Where’s that noise coming from?”

Reaching for her fanny pack, Bulma bit the inside of her cheek. The old satellite phone’s screen flashed inside the bag, and she could feel Vegeta’s pointed stare boring into her skull when she pulled it free.

“What is that? How many of your devices are designed to just make shrill noises?”

“All of them, we made them because we knew it would annoy Saiyans; Princes specifically,” Bulma uttered dryly. She held the phone between her hands, jaw set, weighing her options. Revealing that Krillin and Gohan were on the planet could result in death for all of them, but there was at least a 30% chance that he wouldn’t fly off the handle either. Jaw aching, she made up her mind.

His shadow fell across hers, and he ripped the phone from her hands. “Is this… is this some sort of communicator?” He asked, slowly, before his frown darkened, and he pressed the call button.

Krillin’s panicked voice sounded through the speaker: “Bulma? Bulma! Are you there?”

Bulma elbowed Vegeta aside and managed to get in a quick: “Yeah—!” before his hand flew over her mouth.

“State your name and business,” Vegeta snapped into the receiver. Bulma clawed at his hand and tried to pry his fingers free but he didn’t budge.

“Wha—? V-Vegeta! Where is Bulma? What have you done to her?” Krillin’s voice cracked.

“I _said_ ,” Vegeta began, his voice a turning into a threatening growl. “State your name and business you useless halfwi— _AUGH!_ _Fucking hell_ _woman!_ ”

She hadn’t expected it to really hurt him, but biting people did have some shock value to it. In the confusion his grip slipped, and she snatched the phone up, slamming it to her ear. “Hi! Hi,  _ hey, _ Krillin, it’s me! Sorry about that!”

A ki blast flared above her head with an angry snarl, and she shot him with a stern look. He lowered his hand, the ki vanishing with a tiny hiss.

Krillin’s voice sounded from the speaker again. “B-Bulma are you ok? Was that Vegeta? Oh no, oh no, he knows—!”

“I’m fine, one moment.” Bulma covered the receiver and caught Vegeta nursing his red hand before he threw it down by his side with a glare. “Before you get mad let me explain and start off by saying I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,  but some of my friends from Earth have arrived on Namek chasing after me. I didn’t know the were coming, and they found me earlier and I gave Dende to them to look after.” She eyed the sparks between his fingers and the way his eyes narrowed into slits, and tried again. “I didn’t want you to think I was betraying you, so I didn’t tell you. I could have left with them and I didn’t and I stayed here and helped you locate a Dragon Ball for God only knows why. I’m not going to double cross you, I’m not stupid.”

She waited and Vegeta nodded his approval. “You shouldn’t have kept it from me!” He snapped finally, crossing his arms.

“Yeah! I know, ok!”

“What else are you keeping from me?” he asked, stepping forward suddenly, his face inches from hers. A muffled voice squeaked Bulma’s name in the receiver a few times, and she held it away from her mouth.

“ _ Nothing! _ Again, I’m not stupid! Just let me talk to my friend and I’ll sort it out, ok? I gave him the satellite phone for emergencies, so something’s up,” Bulma begged.

“Fine. Get it over with.” With his back turned and slinking back over to the lounge, Bulma breathed a low sigh of relief. He’d taken it better than expected, however, the way his tail twitched while he watched her, arms crossed and ready to pounce told her that it’d been a near miss.

She turned back to the phone, Krillin babbling something on the other end. “Sorry, sorry, what’s up? Are you guys okay? Wait, hold on—” She put them on speaker and eyed Vegeta, hoping he’d recognise that she was making a gesture in good faith.

Krillin’s words all ran together, and she saw Vegeta tense at the sudden sound.

“Bulma! Are you sure you’re ok? W-we could come and get you if you’re not—! Say ‘banana’ if you’re not safe and Vegeta is there and you can’t say that you’re not safe.”

“I am not saying ‘banana’, Krillin.”

“Oh my god,  _ y-you’re not safe? _ Bulma, I don’t know what we’ll do against him but stay where you are, we’ll—!”

“You’re on speaker.” She heard Krillin squeak on the other end, and Vegeta’s tail thrashed a little more violently. “Anyway, I’m fine, what’s wrong? What’s happening? Are you and the others in trouble?”

Krillin faltered. “O-oh, no, not in trouble.”

“Then why are you calling me? I said that I would contact you if I needed to, I know I didn’t specifically say ‘don’t call me’, but I thought the subtext was obvious that it’d dangerous for me to get a call while I’m with you-know-who!”

Vegeta snapped. “ _ You are not to tell them where we are and do not tell them anything about me!  _ I am allowing you right now to communicate with your friends, but if I hear you say anything that could compromise my wish I’ll—!”

“I know, I know, I’m not going to do anything,” she said, hoping the sincerity wasn’t lost on him, before she added, lightly, “careful about that frown or your face may stay like that!” Krillin said something, but she missed it over Vegeta’s rabid snarling. “Sorry what was that?”

“Oh, I just said that I called to check in on you, sorry, I didn’t think about how it could be a risk for you… I also wanted to tell you that Dende let us know that one of the Dragon Balls is with their Grand Elder. We thought that we might go get it! D-Dende also said that the Grand Elder created these Dragon Balls, so we figured we should definitely go talk to him and warn him if he doesn’t already know about the whole uh…  _ situation _ .” Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Vegeta lean in, listening. “Speaking of Dragon Balls, have you guys managed to get any yet?” asked Krillin.

“Don’t answer that!” Vegeta ordered.

“Sorry, apparently I’m not allowed to confirm or deny the rumours at this point in time,” she said, leaning against the table and poking her tongue out at Vegeta. His face went red and he looked away. “Anyway, it’d be good if you three get that one, it’ll means another one that Frieza can’t get his hands on.”

Vegeta almost fell off the lounge. “ _ What _ ?”

“F-Frieza?” asked Krillin. “Is he one of those bad guys here? Dende has told us about how the Namekian villages have been attacked.”

“Yeah, Frieza and co. have been trying to gather up all the Dragon Balls so he can wish for his own immortality, but if you guys get one of the Dragon Balls and if we manage to get some—not saying if we have yet—” Vegeta who pulled a sour face “—but if we both do that, then it’ll make it near impossible for Frieza to get all seven. He’s only able to find the current ones by searching for large energy signatures of Namekians.”

“Okay, well we’re already on the way there now, we’ll let you know what happens with the Grand Elder,” replied Krillin, stumbling over himself to add, “oh! Uh, as long as it is okay to call you?”

“Yeah. It’ll be fine, let me know. Bye.” She hung up before he could answer, and buried her face in her hands with a groan.

“You lied to your friend.”

Bulma peeking out between her fingers. “When?”

Vegeta watched her carefully from the lounge. He looked as grumpy as always, but there was something unreadable behind his scowl. “You said you were fine multiple times but you’re obviously not.” 

“And you care all of a sudden whether I’m fine or not?”

“No, don’t misunderstand me, I couldn’t care less about your personal affairs! I just found it interesting how easy it was for you to lie to him! I merely considering how you could be doing the same to me,” he drawled with a shrug of his shoulders, but she couldn’t help but notice the faint pinkness in his cheeks.

Bulma let her fingers slide from her face, pulling at the skin under her eyes. “It’s not the same, come on, haven’t you lied about how you’re feeling to friends?” His frown grew a darker, and she waved her hands. “Well, I don’t know, maybe not  _ friends  _ in your case, but with people in general. Everyone lies about how they’re feeling so people don’t worry or know that you’re vulnerable.”

He seemed to consider her words for a moment, before turning away with one of his usual scoffs. She placed the phone down on the counter, in clear view, and announced, “alright, I’m gonna go be horizontal now—I’m sleeping. Have fun doing whatever you decide to do and I’ll let you keep the phone as long as you don’t break it and you don’t rack up my phone bill. Bye.”

She closed the bedroom door behind her, and didn’t lock it this time.

 

***

_ “Tsk, tsk, now Vegeta, you know better than to speak like that to me.” Frieza’s voice goes in like a needle, and it skewers his heart with every word. “Look me in the face and tell me you’re sorry, monkey!” He says it with such sick glee, it makes his stomach turn. _

_ He keeps quiet. Frieza stands in front of him, at eye level, but his ki makes him seem a hundred feet tall, the stuff radiating off him like the stench of some festered corpse, impossible to ignore. Around them, he can make out figures, but no faces, just the dark shadowy outlines and suggestions of other living bodies. _

_ “My apologies, Lord Frieza,” the words are stiff and sour. He wonders, terrified, if Frieza can hear the shame in them; not the shame of doing something wrong, but the shame of having to apologise to  _ him _. “I didn’t think.” _

_ “No, of course not, I always expect a little bit too much from your simpleton species, half the time it’s like speaking to a wall, only a wall doesn’t talk back,” Frieza mused, his eyes roving beyond the circle of light they stood in. “I heard somewhere along the line, _ — _ and this is most amusing _ — _ that a clever monkey has been plotting behind my back. Do you have any idea who that might be, Vegeta?” _

_ He keeps his head bowed, staring at the floor, trying not to imagine Frieza’s face. “No,” he lies, barely opening his mouth. _

_ “Oh, that’s so funny!” Frieza starts. “Here’s a little math problem that I’m sure even you can do: can you tell me how many of your race survive?” He doesn’t answer, and an icy hand grabs him by the throat. “Tick-tock! Time is running out! Or do I have to answer this one for you? Because there’s only one answer,” Frieza says, forcing Vegeta’s face up, forcing him to look him in the eye, and see that there’s nothing there, not even rage, or anger, just a terrifying, unending well of boredom. The hand around Vegeta’s throat tightened, crushing his windpipe. His hands rose reflexively to try and pull him off, but he forced them back down by his sides, shaking. If he was going to die, he was going to die with honor, not desperation. “And there is only one Saiyan left in my ranks.” _

_ “I’m not in your ranks,” Vegeta hisses, despite himself. The hand tightens again, and words fail. Pain explodes in the back of his head, in his lungs, in each and every scar that littered his body, as if they were all being given anew. _

_ “Now, now, what have I said about telling lies?” Frieza warned. He leans in close, and Vegeta shudders at the feeling of his cold breath across his skin. “You’ll always belong to me, monkey.” _

_ He screams, and his neck snaps. _

“Vegeta? Jesus, what the hell is happening?” The woman’s voice sounded. Vegeta recoiled, lashing out at the darkness before tumbling and hitting the floor hard. “Oh my god, are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” He pushed himself off the floor, and the nightmare faded in an instant, but he could still make out the outline of Frieza’s form. He ground the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to rub the image away. Something soft brushed his shoulder, and he twisted, a blast of ki at the ready. In the glow, he saw Bulma, crouched over him, her hair in all directions and a look on her face that hit him hard as a hammer.

“G-get away from me!” He barked, hauling himself up onto the lounge again.

She didn’t move, and he felt her eyes on him. “You yelled,” she said, dumbly.

“Did I disturb you?” He asked, lacing his voice with as much malice as he could muster. “Perhaps you’d like to be dead so I won’t wake you?”

“Cut that out,” Bulma growled. The couch pillows moved, and she took a seat in the gloom. “I know you don’t mean that.”

His hands ached to hit something, to rip it to shreds and blast it to nothing but he refrained. If she was there, then this was no dream; he’d never dream of her.

She patted the seat beside her, and Vegeta realised she had walked out with the blanket wrapped around her slim shoulders, and that her face was puffy with sleep. He got up, body charged, and his heart thumping and listened, but there was nothing, just the quiet of the house. There was no ki either, only the faint pulsing sliver inside the woman.

He collapsed back onto the couch, his body heavy, and rubbed his eyes again.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Bulma asked, her voice feeling too loud for the dark.

“It’s none of your business,” he snarled. “What a pathetic thing to suggest.”

He felt her sigh, and lean back, the blanket brushing his bare shoulder. “I don’t think it’s pathetic,” she said, quietly. He searched her tone for some kind of mocking, but came up empty. She was quiet for a moment, before asking, “can I turn the lights on?”

“You’ve never needed my permission before,” he growled.

The lights flared, and Vegeta squinted bleary eyed against the glare. Bulma placed some tiny remote back onto the coffee table, pulling her blanket around her more. In the light he could see all the details he’d have never noticed normally. The freckles across her face, the deep bags under her eyes, the dark roots in her hair before it went blue. She turned to him, eyes still half closed. “I used to have lots of bad dreams when I was younger.”

“Because you were no doubt a child, and it is a child’s problem,” Vegeta stated.

She scoffed. “No, when I went to university as an adult, actually, just three years ago. I had bad anxiety, so bad that most nights I couldn’t sleep because I would have these terrible, waking nightmares about dying or being killed and I was terrified to go back to sleep.” She pulled her knees up to her chin, and yawned. “I lost heaps of weight and stuff, had a mental break down, dropped outta uni for a bit. Yadda yadda. Eventually they stopped, I don’t really know why, they just did.”

“How fascinating,” Vegeta lulled, giving her a withering stare. “I couldn’t care less.”

He waited for a retort, but she just shrugged, and smiled. “Well, all I’m saying is, they stopped, and then they started again, only now, I have nightmares about my friends dying, and my planet being destroyed.”

“That is not my concern,” he said, stiffly. Some painful feeling bit at the back of his neck, some foreign, niggling thing. “Why are you telling me this? I already told you I don’t care.”

“Well, call me crazy, but I think you need someone to talk to and I know how you feel.”

_ Know how I feel? Know how I feel?! _

“You don’t know anything,” he hissed. “You don’t know the first thing about how I feel.”

“Then tell me,” she parried. The look she gave him was fierce, but there was something soft behind it, some strange kindness. “C’mon, it’ll help, and I won’t tell anyone, I pinky promise.” She held up her hand, little finger out, and he stared at it. She reached down, and took hold of his hand. He wanted to rip his hand from hers, but something in his chest stopped him, and allowed her to manipulate it until their little fingers were locked. She shook their hands, grinning. “This is called a pinky promise, and it means you can’t break it.”

“How asinine,” he said with a click of his tongue. She let go of his hand, leaving a memory of warmth on his skin.

“Kind of,” she admitted. “Would it kill you to have fun for five whole seconds?”

“Hmph.”

She got to her feet, dragging the blanket along like a cape as she headed towards the kitchen. “Do you drink tea?” She asked over her shoulder as she opened a metal tin and rummaged through the contents.

His eyes narrowed, watching how she carefully selected small packets of something. “No,” he replied, truthfully. She flicked the kettle on, and covered her mouth to yawn before waving her hand.

“It’ll help you calm down.”

“I’m already calm!” He barked, and she held up her hands, giving a slow, deliberate blink.

“Oh, right of course, I should have guessed by the way you’re constantly waiting for a bomb to go off!” She teased, pulling out two mugs and ripping open the little packets. Some sharp and earthy smell made his nostrils flare. “Anyway, you seem like a camomile and peppermint kind of guy.”

He didn’t know what that meant, and felt himself getting frustrated at not understanding again. He dug his fingers into his forearms, keeping his arms tight across his chest. Bulma wondered back over, holding a small tray and two mugs, the blanket trailing across the floor behind her as she set the tray down, and collapsed into the couch, almost kicking him off as she wriggled and moved around so her legs were tucked underneath her, and the blanket covered her.

She reached out for one of the mugs, and the smell from before became thicker, and warmer. She held the mug out for him, and he glanced between the mug and her face, jaw set. She glared, grabbed his wrist, and untangled it from his chest and forced the hot mug into his hand.

“ _ Jeee-sus _ ! I’m trying to be nice to you! It’ll help, trust me!” She said, closing his fingers around the handle. She sat back, bringing her own mug up under her chin, breathing deep. “I used to do this all the time when I had nightmares, it just gave me something to do and something else to focus on.”

Vegeta bit his tongue to keep his lip from curling; the smell was not unpleasant, but it was strong enough to make his eyes water. When she wasn’t watching, he took a tentative sip. It wasn’t bad.

Bulma moved beside him, her shoulder brushing against his. “So,” she started. “Why don’t you tell me a little more about yourself? With all your bossing around and yelling about how you’re a prince, I don’t really know much else about you.”

“Why do you care?” He barely recognised his own voice.

“Oh, I dunno! You could ask a little about me if you liked, there’s more to me than just my dazzling good looks!”

“Tch.”

“Ok, well, tell me about the Saiyans. Do you all have tails? Do you all eat your weight in meat every few hours? What did you do before this? What’s your home planet like?”

The mug trembled in his hands, he made an effort to still himself, and he spoke stiffly. “Only worthless whelps like Kakarot don’t have tails. I eat a perfectly normal amount. I exterminated species like yours and sold their planet on to the highest bidder. Up until very recently I believed the lie Frieza told me that my planet had been destroyed by an asteroid but now I know the truth.”

Her smile vanished, before she looked away, frowning. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, I don’t know what to say, that’s awful,” she said.

“I don’t need your pity, woman, I was stupid and allowed myself to be duped,” he grunted before the realisation punched him square in the gut. “ _ W-what am I blathering about? Why am I telling you this?! _ ”

Bulma took a sip, lowering her mug. “Maybe you wanted to tell someone and just haven’t had anyone around to tell?” She suggested.

He went to slam the tea down, but restrained himself, muscles shaking, and carefully placed it down carefully. “I don’t know what has gotten into your head to make you think that I am anything more than your enemy, but it would do you well to remember who you’re talking to! I don’t know why you think you can speak to me like you do, make fun of me, touch me, you should realise that it means nothing to me, and it serves no purpose!”

She stared, stunned, and after a few long moments, gulped. “I-I’m sorry,” she hazarded, eyes glassy. Frieza’s hands grabbed his heart and squeezed. “I… uh, I didn’t realise you saw it that way.”

His knees threatened to give way. He hadn’t meant to say it like that, he hadn’t meant to make it sound like he despised her—he simply hated himself for not having discipline! He didn’t hate her for speaking or for anything else, he just hated he couldn’t control himself and that he let it all have power over him—!

“I don’t!” His voice came out in a yelp, his hands trembling. “I meant—I—!” She got to her feet, pulling the blanket around her form more, holding the mug to her chest. He waited for her to yell something, to round on him with that too volatile ferocity more suited to a Saiyan than a human but it never came, only that awful suffocating silence. He bit back his angry howl, and tried to explain. “I meant that I should have more  _ constraint _ , and not get carried away.” Her frown lifted a fraction, and she caught his eye. He cleared his throat, straightened himself, forcing his shoulders back. “Y-you are not the problem.”

She relaxed, and he almost collapsed. She took a sip of tea and blinked forming tears away and said, “well, you are right, I do sort of think of you as a friend and I do admit, that really you’re my enemy.” The words burned, and he fell upon his sword, but she gave a small smile. “But I guess that’s why words like ‘ _ frenemy _ ’ exist.”

“What the hell is that?” He blurted.

“It means you’re both enemies and friends,” she explained, reaching down and picking up his mug. She pushed it into his hand again, and he kept his eyes lowered. “I’m going to go back to bed, don’t destroy anything before I wake up.”

She turned away, and his hand shot out before he could stop himself, the words forcing themselves out his mouth, “I had dream about Frieza.”

Bulma looked from his face, to his hand clutching a fistful of her blanket. She sat down, and finally Vegeta’s legs gave out and he took a trembling seat beside her. “What did he do to you?” She asked.

“He broke my neck,” Vegeta explained, voice hoarse.

“That’s not what I meant.”

A long silence yawned between them, and Vegeta gripped the mug handle too tightly. “I have good reasons for wanting him dead.”

Her hand brushed his arm, and he tightened on instinct. “I know you do,” she said, gently. Vegeta brought the mug to his mouth, his head clouding over. He waited until Bulma wasn’t watching again to take a sip, and lowered the cup quickly. “How long have you worked for him?” He could tell she was picking her words carefully.

“Most of my life,” he replied, finally. There was no use in lying, or ignoring her. Even if the woman didn’t pester him for an answer, the guilt of not telling her would eventually become too much. “All of my life, really. He already kept my father on a short leash by the time I was born.”

There was movement out of the corner of his eye, and he saw Bulma fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, looking down into the tea with a stormy look. “What was your dad like?” She asked.

Vegeta’s fists tightened, and he released them. “Severe... but cunning.”

“Oh, so it runs in the family?” She piped up. His cheeks burned and he took another swig of tea to hide it. “Did you like him?”

“I suppose all children have to,” he replied, before adding with a grunt, “he was all I had, and so I respected him.”

“Oh.”

“I see now that Frieza killed him, and because I showed promise and already had a power level higher than the rest of our warriors, so he graciously allowed me to live and become a pawn,” he said, fingering the edge of the mug. A silent question hung in the air, and he cleared his throat. “I did not know my mother.”

“I’m sorry,” Bulma said, voice quiet.

Vegeta shrugged. “Hmph.”

“You told me that your planet was destroyed?”

“Yes,” he said through grit teeth. “I had always… suspected something, but I never questioned it. Dodoria told me the truth before I killed him. He’d hoped in my shock I’d let my guard down. I was a fool to just believe what Frieza told me, I should have trusted my gut that he had been behind it.”

“H-he destroyed your home?”

Vegeta adjusted himself, shrugged again, and drained the mug entirely. “I’m finished.”

“I can get you another—”

“I’m fine.”

Bulma nodded, and got to her feet again. She jerked her head in the direction of the kitchen with a small, hopeful smile. “You hungry? Actually don’t answer that, you are, because you’ve all got bottomless pits for stomachs. C’mon, there’s no way I’m getting back to sleep now; might as well do something productive.”

“Y-you don’t have to do that,” Vegeta mumbled.

She turned back, the blanket trailing behind her on the floor like robes. “My god, don’t tell me that the prince is offering me a merciful  _ reprieve _ ?”

“I’d never give  _ you  _ a reprieve,” he growled, following her lead. “There are no pardons in a Saiyan court.”

“I could have sworn you said ‘ _ you don’t have to do that _ ’—” She puffed out her chest, flexing her arms and put on some crude voice that he guessed was meant to sound like him— “all suggesting you feel sorry for pretty ol’ me always slaving away over a hot stove for you.” He relaxed, his muscles settling; this was the woman he preferred.

“Ha! I’m only aware that you could use this as an excuse to injure yourself again and dampen my plans for immortality,” he said, watching her dump the blanket on a waiting chair before busying herself in the cupboards looking for pans.

“Oh no! You’re onto me!” She said setting the pan down and grabbing a bag of some foreign vegetables. He wasn’t a fan of how she tried to put an equal amount of things that weren’t meat in  _ with  _ his meat. “Well, if you’re going to supervise me you might as well help me by passing me the peeler.”

His hand hovered over the stacked up utensils in the drying rack and he found himself dutifully waiting until that familiar tone took over her voice and she explained. “The white thing, it has like little blades in it, that one, yes— _ that!  _ Thank _ you _ .”

He’d never really paid attention to the woman when she was cooking or preparing food, he’d always been thinking about something else, but this time, he found himself pulling out a stool and taking a seat across from her and watching. She caught his eye, and smiled. “Do you wanna learn?” He didn’t reply, and she carefully peeled the skin off one of the lumpy bulbs. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

Rolling up her sleeves, and weilding a knife, she cut with the precision of a warrior, pushing ingredients aside or wiping them into bowls before grabbing more, piling meat high onto the chopping board and dicing it. All the while she spoke, explaining what she was doing, her hands dancing across the counter with practiced ease. She filled the quiet with her lecturing and her chatter, and the occasional mordacious remark flung his way with a smile. He watched her pour all the ingredients together in a pan, loading it up with oil, and realised that he didn’t mind her talking. He’d always been a loner, by design rather than by choice, and he had always resented being forced with others, and as much as Bulma could annoy him, she kept his mind occupied.

“What are you gonna do when he’s gone then?” Bulma asked, wiping her hands on a paper towel.

Vegeta started. “I’d rather focus on killing him first, only a fool counts his victories before the battle.”

“You haven’t thought about it,” she mused.

He hadn’t. “ _ Tch! _ ”

By the time she pushed the first bowl of steaming hot food under his nose, he knew more about her than he did about himself. He wasn’t sure what was his favourite colour, but he knew all about hers, and her favourite books, and her favourite type of circuit board, and her favourite kind of creature, which was ‘cats’, and which she had hundreds of images of on her ‘phone’ to show him while he was busy wolfing down his fourth bowl.

“I’m surprised you haven’t killed me yet,” she said, flicking through her hand held screen lazily. She pulled up yet another photo of the black cat, Scratch, and he glanced at obediently it before shoving another heaping of spiced meat and sauce into his mouth.

“That makes two of us,” he said.

“It’s almost like you enjoy my company.”

“I don’t,” he lied. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi it is me, someone who wrote some words for this, but not as many as Ronnie did. I hope people like the smell profile of this chapter thanks, I did a lot of time and research to try and find a bad combo. Maybe someone would like it but I think cinnamon and eucalyptus is very bad together. Thanks. - x7r


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To: Akira.Toriyama@DBZ.com
> 
> Subject: Thoughtful rewrite chapter 6 I think :^)
> 
> Body:
> 
> Its proper Namek saga time babey! It's a short one tonight, but that's because it's Heating Up!

Bulma heard him long before she saw him, the crunch of his boots on the cave floor, and the too rough handling of the door knob announced his arrival. He thrust the door open, sweaty and red in the face, and jumped when he saw her.

“Hi,” she said with a small wave. He grunted, heading straight for the kitchen, and wiping his mouth on the back of his glove. Dry blood cracked from a scab above his eye, but apart from that, he seemed unharmed, as always. “Anyone I know?” She asked, half joking, following him to the kitchen.

The tap turned on and he splashed water on his face with another groan, scrubbing the dirt and gunk from his brow and opening the cut again. Lips pursed, Bulma slipped around the counter beside him. “Sure! Just bleed all over my floor as well as tracking mud inside, I don’t mind at all,” she remarked, plucking some tissues and lifting her hand to his face without thinking.

She expected him to recoil but he didn’t. She pressed a clump of tissues to his brow, and he stood still, glaring at the splashback. “It was no one important.”

“Well, that’s always nice,” Bulma said, lifting the tissues away to inspect the wad. The cut wasn’t deep, but anything on the face always bled a lot. She considered washing it out properly with antiseptic and covering it with some gauze but the steel in his glare, and the scars peeking out from under his armour around his neck reminded her that he’d seen far worse.

“I, uh, I was waiting for you,” she hazarded. He tilted his head in her direction. “I wanted to show you how the radar works.”

“Why?”

“Because I said I would, and I’m a nice person of course!” Bulma replied, hotly. She lifted the tissue away again, and the cut didn’t bleed again. “I don’t go back on promises, ok?”

He shrugged her off, and she suppressed hurling an insult at the back of his head. He slumped onto the lounge, head back and eyes closed. She took the radar from the counter, and stood over him, hand on hip. When he didn’t acknowledge her, she snapped her fingers in front of his face.

“Now, do you want learn how it works or not?”

He opened one eye with a dirty look. “I already  _ know  _ how it works!”

Bulma paused. She glanced at the radar, and then to his face, her brow knit. “You’re bluffing,” she said, voice low.

He smiled, and it was icy. “It’s not bluffing if it’s the truth.”

“Alright, prove it, Prince Know-It-All,” she snapped again, tossing the radar in his direction, maybe a little harder than intended, but he caught it deftly.

Sitting up, he flipped the radar over, turned it on, and to Bulma’s horror, the screen glowed green. The terror grew when he adjusted the readings, zooming in and triangulating the nearest signal with a bored expression. The radar pinged quietly, picking up distant Dragon Balls, and Vegeta placed the radar down on the coffee table between them.

“You said there was a password,” Vegeta yawned, stretching his arms over his head. “That was the real bluff. You just said that to keep me from trying.”

Bulma jumped on the radar, pouring over the screen with white knuckled hands, but he’d done everything right. She’d been so careful! She’d been so careful not to show him or give it any inkling to its working away. She lowered the radar, and made an effort to keep her hands from trembling. “Impressive,” she croaked.

“Hpmh, don’t look so worried, I’m not going to dispose of you just yet.”

Bulma shook herself from her stupor. “H-how? When?”

He shrugged again, crossing his arms in front of his chest with a knowing look. “It’s not exactly hard to figure out, and I’m very observant.”

“I can’t believe it,” Bulma said, pushing her fringe back and making her hair stand on end. She shook her head, ghostly white. “I-I can’t believe you! How long have you known?”

He made a long, thoughtful sound from somewhere deep in his chest. “Oh, a while now, you really shouldn’t underestimate me, woman. I warned you of that from the beginning.”

Bulma slammed her fists down on the coffee table, and Vegeta’s sneer slipped.

“How are you the only person over 5 who has managed to work out how to use this without me having to run a lecture on it? I can’t fucking believe it.”

Vegeta gaped. “It’s one button!”

“ _ I know! _ ”

Bulma smoothed her fringe back down with a fastidious hand, her heart beating hard enough to bruise. She avoided his gaze, head reeling. He’d known how to use the radar days at least, maybe since he’d first seen it; all the threats of taking it were empty. She lost it.

“Oh, my God! So much for killing me then, huh?”

“I could still do it!” He barked, on the defence again. His fists lit up to illustrate this, but Bulma’s laughter grew, and tears welled despite herself.

“No, you can’t! Otherwise you wouldn’t have bothered to keep me around! Oh, my  _ God _ !”

“Woman, shut the hell up!”

“Have you figured anything else out by observation? How about cooking or cleaning up after yourself?” She asked wiping her face. His arms tightened to the point of crushing himself and the corners of her mouth hiked up to dangerous new levels. “I’m Sorry, I know I shouldn’t laugh and I promise it’s not at entirely at you, I’m just… taken aback!”

“You have a funny way of showing it,” he managed, seconds from imploding. The hairs on his tail stood on end and he shot bolt upright, looking around. “Those two idiots again? I knew I shouldn’t have let you speak to them!”

She blinked, and realised what happened. “You mean Krillin and Gohan? They’re here?”

“No, obviously not, you’ve got  _ eyes _ don’t you?” He crossed the room in an instant, and was out the door before she could stop him. “What are those punks doing?”

Bulma caught up, grabbing his arm. “Vegeta, don’t you dare hurt them—!”

He shook her off, glaring. “I’m not going to kill them! But I make no promises about not hurting them,” he warned, before kicking open the door and hurtling towards the cave mouth.

Bulma rushed forward, cringing against the ache in her ankle, and Vegeta kicked off in a cloud of dirt and light. “Vegeta, you jerk!” She shrieked after him, watching his form vanish in a streak of burning blue. “If I find out you did anything to them  _ I’m never making you anything ever again! _ ”

 

***

 

The ki signatures vanished in an instant, but Vegeta knew they hadn’t gone anywhere. He pulled himself to a sudden stop, energy spilling off his shoulders in a haze. Islands and rivers stretched out below him in a complex array of veins and arteries all leading towards the seas that littered the surface of this planet. He shook the memory of Bulma’s touch on his arm with a shudder.

“You have five seconds to reveal yourselves before I level this place!” He roared, his voice reverberating off the rocks and still water. The echo still hung before he lifted his hand, the ki flooding down his arm and gathering at his fingertips. “Changed my mind, two seconds or nothing!”

“ _ Wait! _ ” Something orange jumped out from behind a rock, and he recognised the bald head and uniform immediately. He racked his brain to try and remember their name, letting the energy vanish. They waved, face white.

“H-hi there.” He remembered that pitiful whining voice for sure. “How are you doing?”

Vegeta landed a few metres away, and Krillin recoiled as if struck. Vegeta didn’t bother to hide his grin. “So, you followed me! I don’t know whether to call you brave, or just suicidal!”

“We didn’t come after you!” A new voice said, younger, and even more familiar than the bald one. A dark haired boy leaned out from behind Krillin, and Vegeta’s jaw set. Kakarot’s half breed son, of course. “We came for Bulma!”

“Gohan, be quiet!” Krillin warned, paling again.

_ Gohan _ . That was his name.

Vegeta raised an brow. “Who?”

“Seriously?” Gohan asked. “You kidnapped her!”

“Oh, the Earth Woman,” Vegeta scoffed, with feigned indifference. “You can have her back for all I care, she’s done nothing but slow me down—and as for you two.” They stepped back, and he felt a familiar thrill in the pit of his stomach. “Tell me about this Dragon Ball that you’re going to collect.”

“N-now, Vegeta, we don’t want any trouble, we both want the same thing,” Krillin started, holding his hands out as if Vegeta were some wild animal to be tamed.

Vegeta’s lip curled. “On the contrary, you have no idea what I want, and I’m not interested in whatever it is you desire.”

“Bulma said—!”

“I don’t care what that woman told you! She’s my hostage, not my keeper, and you will tell me where this other Dragon Ball is or I will be sure to well and truly finish you off this time.” He raised his hand again, and the ki crackled like lightning. They didn’t move, and Vegeta’s tail bristled. “Well? Have you got anything to say?”

They looked to each other, and Krillin quietly stepped in front of the boy, his face dark. “If we tell you, then you have to let Bulma go.”

“And why would I do that?” Vegeta laughed.

“You said it yourself,” Krillin began, his back straight. “If she’s done nothing but slow you down, then letting her go while getting a Dragon Ball should be a fair exchange, a bonus even.”

A cool breeze swept through the grass, whispering across the nape of his neck like fingers and he suppressed a shudder. The seconds passed in an age, and he tried to keep his voice low, and threatening, “or I could just kill all three of you and be done with it, but at the moment, she’s more valuable to all of us alive. Now, the Grand Elder, out with it, what do you know?”

“Nothing except for what Dende told us,” Gohan explained. Beneath his fringe, his eyes burned with the same ferocity as his father, and it left a sour taste in Vegeta’s mouth. The bald one didn’t bother him, but he knew the runt was cunning, and more powerful than he seemed. “He has one of the Dragon Balls and he knows how to work them, these ones are different from the ones on Earth.”

“Is that so? And where are  _ they _ exactly?” Vegeta asked, starting to walk around behind them, watching how they turned on the spot to follow him. He let his tail slip from his waist to sweep out behind them, fixing them with a predatory look. “There’s no point in lying, the woman already knows that first hand.”

“If you’ve hurt her—!”

Vegeta cut Krillin off with a vicious look. “The only thing that’s hurt her so far as been an ill placed foothold on some rocks! She’s more of a danger to herself than I would ever be. Enough of this, just tell me what I need to know and I’ll spare you!”

Something in the air changed, and Vegeta felt it under his skin. The cool breeze continued to blow across the grass in waves, and through the old matchstick trees, but something wormed its way into the back of his skull, niggling like a fish at a bait. “Do you feel that?” Krillin stammered, pivoting on the spot, his eyes fixed on the sky.

Gohan smacked Krillin’s arm, his neck craned. “Lower your power level! Lower it!”

“There’s no need for that,” Vegeta growled. He focused on the pinprick of burning energy in the distance moving fast, growing with each passing second as they approached. He tried to place a face to the power, it carried some prickle of familiarity. “Frieza’s men don’t have any scouters, and this is no Namekian.”

“S-speaking of, when and how did you learn to sense energy?” Krillin cried, visibly sweating.

Vegeta shrugged it off, and the distant energy grew closer. His head snapped into the direction of where it was coming, and beyond the yellow green haze of the horizon, he saw someone shrouded in burning ki hurtling through the clouds. Even from a distance, he recognised that glow, that silken cloak and that trailing mane of hair. “Zarbon!”

“Who?” Gohan asked, backing up against the rocks.

“I’ve been dying to get my hands on him the minute I set foot on this waterlogged planet!” Vegeta could barely contain the excitement in his tone. “You! Earthlings! I made a promise to that foolish woman I wouldn’t kill you, but if you get in my way then it’s your own fault! Now, marvel at the power of a true Saiyan warrior!”

He didn’t care about them, he didn’t even wait for them to speak, he shot off into the air, eyes set on Zarbon. The ki surged into his muscles, mingling with his blood, blinding him to everything except his target, speeding through the air alone, and separated from the herd like a witless spring calf.

Zarbon looked up in time for Vegeta’s face to connect with his jaw, and send him careening through the air. The energy in the air sizzled, Zarbon pulling himself out of his tail spin and glaring fiercely. Zarbon’s ki pulsed rapidly like his heart, and Vegeta’s sneer doubled. “ _ Yo Zarbon _ ,” he mocked, hair flying. “Long time no see?”

“Vegeta!” Zarbon hissed, fists clenching. “So, this is where you’ve been hiding?”

“Oh, I haven’t exactly been hiding,” Vegeta explained; his hands itched to seize Zarbon by the jugular, to snap his windpipe in two. “With Dodoria out of the way and scattered across half this planet, it’s your turn.”

“You expect me you killed Dodoria?” He snarled, but Vegeta saw the twitch in his jaw. “Fanciful!”

“I do, and I’m sure you’ll be interested to know I didn’t even break a sweat,” Vegeta growled, fighting the urge to let his tail trash. Zarbon’s skin paled to a pasty green, the same shade as that horrendous sky above them, and the pulse of his ki grew quicker. After all these years, he finally got to see Zarbon scared.

“Well, humor me for a moment, Vegeta, before I finish you off,” Zarbon said, regaining his composure, and righting himself. “Have you had fun with your disobedience? Have you got it all out of your system? I doubt Frieza will view this favourably.”

“I don’t really care what Frieza thinks. I’ve been kept in check for years in the shadow of his power, but now that there is a chance to break free of his grasp and acquire eternal life in the process?” Vegeta’s fists tightened, ki pushing between his fingers, willing to be let loose. “I’d be a fool not to take it.”

“Do you really think eternal life is all you need to defeat Frieza?” Zarbon asked, his voice taking on the sickly silky tone he’d always used before a fight, before he’d tear through flesh, before he would flay the skin on Vegeta’s back. “Frieza’s capabilities transcend anything you or I could dream of comprehending—you wouldn’t stand a chance even with some Namekian witchcraft.”

“I’ve heard enough of your mindless chatter for one day, Zarbon!” Vegeta barked. “Dodoria already told me Frieza feared the potential of the Saiyan race, I’ll show you the power that made him tremble!”

“Is that what you believe? Ha! What Frieza feared was a mass revolt, just one of you hardly poses a threat!”

The ki tingled on the end of his tongue, and Vegeta’s muscles tensed. “We’ll see about that.”

In a blink Zarbon’s fist struck out and Vegeta caught it with a wicked grin, a whisper away from his face. Zarbon snarled, his other hand twitching to strike again, but Vegeta’s ki swelled and he hurled Zarbon into the horizon. Still spinning, Zarbon thrust his arm out and the ki loosed with a devastating crack.

Vegeta braced, drawing his hand back across his chest, the energy radiating down his spine, seeping deep into his marrow. The blast struck his forearm hard, the energy searing plasma hot for an instant before he knocked it aside. It struck the planet’s surface with a deafening boom, the sky flaring blinding white.

In the flash, Zarbon’s expression flickered, but his cloak whipped behind him in the wind, and he lunged forward. Vegeta dodged Zarbon’s light wreathed fists, and his elbow slammed hard into Zarbon’s chest, before bringing his boot down on Zarbon’s head with vicious strength.

He fell plummeted to the earth, and Vegeta dove after him. Zarbon landed stomach first, wheezing and scrambling to his feet; throwing his eyes skyward. He turned in time for another  kick that sent him flying across the grass, face first in the dirt.

Vegeta closed the distance between them, his tail out despite himself, whipping about him as he approached, calling with gleeful bloodlust, “I never thought I’d see the day where you’d look so helpless!”

Zarbon’s form quaked, his legs struggling to support him. Vegeta brought his hand down, ki flying from his fingers in a savage arc, striking Zarbon and sending him tumbling through the sun baked clay. The scars across Vegeta’s back and arms ached.

He raised his hand again the ki gathering in a whip of burning flame, but Zarbon’s heaving caused him to pause.

“You’ve really surprised me,” Zarbon rasped, his laughter low. He got to his feet, his cloak torn and dirty, billowing about his feet as he straightened himself, arms wide. “You’ve really made outstanding progress Vegeta, but it ends now. You’ve awakened a power that’s been lying dormant in me for years.”

Vegeta’s ears pricked. “Really now?” He grinned. “I felt no power just then, but then again, I wasn’t paying much attention.”

“You might as well know this before your final breath,” Zarbon started, dusting himself off, wiping away the blood that trailed from the corner of his mouth with a profound delicacy. “As someone who prefers beauty, I’m naturally reluctant to reveal this side of me and sacrifice good looks, but I would rather transform than die to the grubby hands of a runt like you.”

“You can  _ transform _ ?” Vegeta laughed, every part of him still screaming for battle.

“I don’t become absurdly large or beastly like you filthy Saiyans do, but my power does increase immensely!”

Some terrible, instinctive animal curiosity struck in the back of Vegeta’s brain. His Saiyan blood willed for a fight, and it willed for the biggest and best, with only two options, victory or death. “Well then,” he started, his voice dark, his tail quivering. Above all reason, and above all logic, he found himself saying, “let’s see it then!”

“And here I was thinking you’d never ask.”

Zarbon’s body convulsed, and his bones contorted and grew with sickening speed. In a moment, his armour expanded, and he towered over the plane like some grotesque that crawled up straight from Hell. He lurched forward, and Vegeta had no time to think.

Zarbon’s hands clapped to either side of Vegeta’s head, and he slammed their skulls together. Stars burst in Vegeta’s vision, and hot pain exploded in his crown before Zarbon hurled him into the air. He spun around, blood streaming from a split crown.

He hadn’t accounted for this, but he wouldn’t lose. He could almost hear the woman’s shrill reprimands in his ears. This was just a complication.

Vegeta turned, and shot towards the ground, straight for Zarbon, who bore his too big fangs in a grin, and kicked off to meet up. Vegeta readied himself, head throbbing, but Zarbon moved too fast, and his massive fist collided with Vegeta’s jaw, sending him spinning. Vegeta shot back, and in the brief lull of fighting, he tasted hot blood, and felt it dripping down his chin.

Zarbon laughed, and called out, his voice low and guttural, “don’t look so shocked, Vegeta! You somehow manage to increase your power by a hair and you believe you can take on anyone? You’re just as arrogant as ever!” He flew up slowly, the cloak spreading out behind him in a white wave. “Let me let you in on a little secret before I kill you, to put your mind at peace; if you’re surprised by this, then what Frieza can achieve when he transforms will terrify you.”

“ _ What _ ?!” Vegeta coughed.

“And if you can’t beat me, how do you expect to take Frieza all by yourself?” Zarbon lifted his open palm, and another blast shot forward aimed for Vegeta’s chest.

Vegeta pulled up, the blast narrowly missing his feet and twisting off into the water with a crash, before Zarbon grabbed him from behind, and dove. Vegeta struggled but Zarbon’s arms crushed his chest, snapping ribs like twigs in his chest, as they sped towards the ground, the sea rushing up to meet them. Zarbon moved, and in the split second of freedom, Vegeta turned to grab him, but Zarbon’s clawed paw closed around his middle, and forced him down.

Vegeta struck the surface like a meteor, and hurling up rock and debris with a ear splitting boom that shook the earth. The dust settled, and water flooded the smoking crater with a thunderous roar, draining in from the sea.

Zarbon watched on from above, eyes fixed on the blackened centre of the crater, water rising until a new, swirling muddy bay formed. He waited, and the minutes passed.

Eventually, he returned to his original form with a toss of his hair, and eyed the surface of the water critically. He waited a little longer, and after a long while, he let out a sigh, turned, and shot off in the direction of Frieza’s ship.

Water churned, waves lapping against the new shore, and a hand burst through the water’s surface, clawing for the bank. Vegeta wrenched himself out of the water, his chest on the earth, coughing. His lungs struggled to fill, splintered ribs grating with every heave.

He tried to pull himself out, but his arms gave way, and he clawed at the clay to keep himself afloat.

“I refuse to end like this,” he hissed, blood and water mixing together. A promise. His vision swam, and he felt himself slipping. “I refuse,” he breathed, before his world gave way to black.

 

***

There was a knock on the door, and the plate in Bulma’s hand slipped from her grasp and shattered. He never  _ knocked _ .

“Bulma?”

She jumped the plate shards, and ran headlong into the door, and almost took it off its hinges throwing it open. Krillin and Gohan stood stunned, and Krillin lowered his fist with a growing grin. “You’re alright!”

“What the hell are you doing here?” She hissed, yanking Krillin forward by the collar. “He went off looking for you! What do you think he’s going to do when he finds you  _ here _ of all places?”

“Nothing!” Krillin laughed, trying and failing to pry her fingers open. “Vegeta got into a fight with another super strong guy, and he got beaten—this is our chance, Bulma! Get your stuff and capsule up this house because we’ve gotta move!”

“What?” The weight of Krillin’s words struck heavy as an axe. She shook her head, mouth suddenly dry. “What are you saying?”

“Another alien,” Gohan explained, reaching up and taking hold of her hand and freeing Krillin from her grasp. “A big green one; he and Vegeta got into a fight and he lost, he got thrown—Bulma, we came to rescue you!”

The words went in and out, without registering, and in a daze Bulma slumped against the door. “He… he lost?” She whispered. Vegeta? The guy who could rip planets part and could take out an army with the flick of a wrist? She grabbed Krillin by the shoulders again and he winced. “Is he alive? Where is he now?”

“I don’t—I don’t know, we left when he was thrown into the water, h-he was unconscious—!”

“ _ Krillin! _ ” She spat, venom flying. “ _ You will take me to where this happened right now or you’ll be begging him to save you from me so help me fucking God! _ ”

“But Bulma—!”

“If he’s dead I’ll never fucking forgive either of you!” She shrieked, before adding hastily, “except for you Gohan, but I’ll ground you so hard even your dad couldn’t dig you out!”

Everything passed in a daze, the wind roared in her ears and it felt like her skin would rip free from her bones at any moment but it still wasn’t fast enough. She held Krillin in a death grip, her hair flying as the three of them streaked across the skin, low to the water to keep from being seen, weaving between the canyons and islands. Dread sat heavy in her chest, burning cold.

Even in the pod where he was bloody, broken and half blind, he’d been a force to be reckoned with, and that was only after being worn down completely over several hours. She’d never thought anything would be capable of stopping him, and now that something had—

Krillin slowed, and the land came into focus. Mountains and hills toppled, great swathes of earth missing and carved away in a fight between juggernauts. They landed lightly, and Bulma ripped herself free from Krillin’s grip, stumbling forward.

“W-where is he?” She asked, voice weak, before yelling, “where is he, Krillin?”

“I-I don’t know, this is where it was, the green guy threw him down into the ground and we left before he found us, I didn’t see what happened after that!” Krillin cried.

“That bay wasn’t there before,” Gohan announced, rushing to the water’s edge. A deep, round area of water bulged out awkwardly from the side of the sea, with no sand or worn banks. Gohan approached the edge, and stones crumbled into the water. He bent down, examining it, and Krillin came up behind him.

“You’re right,” he said, unable to hide the awe in his voice. “It-it wasn’t, this was where the guy threw him, it must have—!”

“Filled with water,” Bulma finished. She stared down at the green water, mouth dry. Unnamed feelings twisted deep in the pit of her stomach, questing to come out her throat in a cry but she swallowed hard, ripping her eyes from the surface. Along the water’s edge, the earth was churned up and still wet. She pushed past Krillin, and she saw handprints and drag marks in the clay, along with pools of bloodied water. “ _ Jesus. _ ”

“He… he survived?” Gohan began, coming to her side. “L-look, he must have crawled up out of the water, that has to be him! It’s too small for the other guy!”

“And then what happened?” Krillin asked.

The three went quiet, staring down at the marks in the mud, signs of a desperate struggle.

Bulma sucked in a sharp breath. “Both of you, can you sense his energy?”

Krillin gawked at her, and Gohan frowned. They exchanged a look, and closed their eyes. “He’s… he’s alive,” Krillin said, wringing calloused hands. “It’s faint, but he’s alive.”

Gohan pointed over the mountains, beyond the sea. “He’s that way, and there are lots of other strong kis around him though.”

“Including…” Krillin tremored. “Including that terrifyingly strong one, it makes me sick to focus on it for more than a few seconds.”

“Frieza.” Bulma slapped her hand on Krillin’s shoulder, and turned him to face her. “Come on, we’re going after him.”

“ _ Frieza? _ ” Krillin quailed.

“No, Vegeta.”

“That’s not much better,” Gohan said looking up between them.

She’d been surprised when Krillin put his arm around her waist, and they kicked off together. She slipped her arm around his back to keep herself from slipping, and squinted against the wind. There was no way that any of them could stand up to Frieza’s men, even Gohan with his formidable talent and passion couldn’t measure up to someone as strong as Vegeta, or in this case, stronger than even him. They sped over the land, heading in the direction Gohan indicated in silence.

Finally, Krillin spoke, “I don’t understand why you want to help him. He almost killed us.”

Bulma bit her bottom lip. “Desperate times call for desperate measures, and so far, he’s the only person here who could hold his own against these guys,” she explained, the wind ripping the words from her mouth.

“She’s right, Krillin,” Gohan sounded. Bulma tilted her head to see him, his little round face looking down at them, the spitting image of Goku as a boy. “He hasn’t hurt Bulma this far, maybe he can help?”

“I doubt it,” Krillin grunted. “He’s a murderer, I don’t trust him one bit.”

“Hey! Hey, hey, hey Krillin, stop!” Bulma smacked him in the arm, eyes fixed on some distant point on the ground. “Stop, stop, stop!” He pulled to a halt, and Bulma kept going, almost slipping from his grasp. She adjusted herself, pushing her hair out of her face and pointing down below. “That village—that’s where I saw Frieza last, land there!”

“Why?” Krillin asked, lowering.

Bulma jumped out of his arm, jumping onto the ground with a grunt, ankle aching. It was as she remembered, the houses torn and toppled, with craters littering the earth, and a green sea fog wafting between the remains. The sad remains of Namekians lay where they died, their cloaks and clothes blowing in the wind, their bodies untouched. She rushed forward, ignoring it, keeping her eyes up and away from their faces.

There has to be something. Something useful. Frieza hadn’t even bothered to clear away his military’s own corpses; they could have anything on them, a keycard, a weapon, a tiny shred of useful information hidden on their person. The approached the nearest house, and guilt tore into her. Other bodies lay among the Namekians, Frieza's men, of all shapes and sizes dressed in the same pristine white and gold armour. Bulma picked her way through the debris, and saw it.

The throne’s cruel, black form rose up out of the mist, now empty, but the memory of its occupant still fresh in her mind. She approached slowly, waving her hand for the others to do the same. “It’s Frieza’s chair,” she explained, breathless. It was bulky and alien, made of some hard, cool material and looked as if it had been born rather than built.

“And?” Gohan asked, reaching out to touch it. The surface sang, like crystal chiming, and he snatched his hand away with a gasp.

“Th-that’s not normal,” Krillin said, pointing at the throne, ashen faced. “There’s some weird energy coming off that thing.”

“Gohan, put your hand on it again,” Bulma ordered, shuffling closer.

Gohan visibly gulped, but reached out. The surface sang again, some deep, eerie tone, and it shuddered. The throne lifted off the ground a few inches, and when Gohan leapt back, it fell down again with a thud that shook the earth.

“It flies?!” Krillin cried, his hands flying to his head. “What good would a flying chair be to someone like that Frieza guy?”

“Maybe he doesn’t like to use his ki?” Gohan suggested.

“Or maybe he’s lazy,” Bulma replied, extending one finger to touch the chair. It was cold, and didn’t move. She nodded. “It reacts to ki; must be what powers it. Can you still feel Vegeta?”

Krillin grumbled, folding his arms. “Yes, he’s still alive. Closer now.”

“There’s still lots of other strong ki around him, Bulma,” Gohan said. “What are you planning?”

She reached into her fanny pack, pulling out the capsule box and flicking it open. She reached in, selecting one, and tossing it. The capsule burst, and with a loud pop, a banged up red tool box lay on the grass beside them. “Keep monitoring him. We’re going to cause a stir.”

 

***

 

Zarbon leaned back on his heel, regarding the isolation chamber coldly. Vegeta’s unconscious body floated inside, armour and clothes still clinging to his frame, bruises visible across his face under the breathing mask.

“I never thought I’d see the day where we were treating a traitor’s wounds,” he drawled to the alien beside him. “How long until we can get any information out of him?”

His companion shrugged, leaning over the vitals displays. “You did a real number on him, I’d say he still has about half an hour to go before he wakes up.”

Zarbon nodded, and let out a low sigh. “I’ll report to Frieza. Keep an eye on him,” he said, slipping out the door. The automatic doors closed with a hiss behind him, and the quiet beep of the displays continued. The medic approached the tank, and the liquid inside glugged.

“Well, Vegeta, even the likes of you will crumble and tell all when Frieza’s through with you,” the medic muttered, watching him through the glass. The displays beeped, and the heart monitor spiked. “ _ What— _ ?”

The glass shattered, and a ki blast struck the medic, reducing him to ash. The liquid spilled out of the tank, pooling across the floor, and Vegeta ripped the electrodes off his temples with a huff.

“Thanks doc,” he growled, newfound power pooling in his joints. There were footsteps and hurried shouting, and he turned on the spot, sending a blast straight through the wall and out into open air. Beyond he could see the hills and mountains of Namek, and the endless green sky. He was on Frieza’s ship then.

The automatic doors slid open, and Vegeta ducked behind the wall.

“H-he’s escaped!” Zarbon called as he stepped over the rubble, staring at the still smoking hole in the ship’s hull. “ _ Damn it! _ ”

“What are you standing around for then?” Frieza sounded, sharp as ice. “Go after him!”

Zarbon took off through the hole and outside, Frieza following close behind.

Vegeta dared to breathe again. Now that Vegeta could sense ki, he realised just how dangerous Frieza was; he could feel all that power, coiled up inside him waiting to strike. He slipped past the infirmary, stealing a look inside to see Frieza looking up out the hole in the hull at Zarbon, who spun around in the air.

“I can’t see him!” He heard Zarbon say.

“If you allow him to slip away from between your fingers any more, Zarbon, then you’ll be paying with your life!” Frieza’s scream followed Vegeta as he sped down the hall, Frieza’s men moving in a panic to get outside the ship and search.

He turned a corner, and stumbled onto the main deck, a great round window looking out across the planet surface. Vegeta paused, running his hands over the door, and was about to turn and head off when his gaze fell onto the shape of five familiar amber spheres.

_ The Dragon Balls _ !

He ducked into the room, closing the door before anyone noticed. The deck was abandoned, all the computers and chairs empty; Frieza’s own captains chair standing alone in the middle of the room. The Dragon Balls lay scattered around his chair in a neat, and gratuitous decadence.

The corners of Vegeta’s mouth twitched into a grin, and his mind raced. He focused on Frieza and Zarbon’s energy; they were still outside, looking for him still, no doubt. He darted forward, hand settling on the surface of the first Dragon Ball, the soothing coolness radiating up through his skin speaking to some deep and hidden part of his sole. He frowned.

Something changed.

Some other energy caught his attention.

He turned, looking out the window, squinting up at the cloudless sky. It was faint, but coming fast, heading towards the ship from across the mountains. He tried to seperate the signatures, but they just blended together, creating some conglomerate of unusual, low level ki until—his tail curled, and a growl rose in his chest.

_ The Earth woman?! _

The energy closed in, and on the very edge of his vision, a black dot, wreathed in white. The shouting outside the door grew louder, and he wracked his brain for ideas. The doors hissed open, and he leaned out into the corridor, and bellowed, “ _ hey genius! I’m still on the ship! _ ”

The ki arced around his arm, the energy flying broiling like a storm, and he took aim. The blast shook the ship, and punctured the wall, the whole thing rocking. Sparks flew and black smoke billowed down the hall. Vegeta stepped back and the doors shut, and he turned his attention back to the Dragon Balls, and the cluster of approaching energy from the hills. He could feel that it was more than just the woman now, it was her plus those runts.

“Just what I need,” he hissed between his teeth, aiming his palm at the window.

The glass bulged, glowing red, until the blast tore through and out the otherside, leaving a smoking ring of melted glass in its wake. Cold air rushed in, and Vegeta’s mind still fumbled over a half formed plan as he snatched up the first Dragon Ball, and took aim. The Dragon Ball shot through the hole and into the air, soaring over the water and to the distant shore before it vanished.

He felt Frieza and Zarbon’s energy return to the ship, and tossed the rest of the Dragon Balls as hard as he could out the window, and into the distance, his excitement growing. His heart thumped, and he felt his Saiyan blood hounding for the fray again, the hairs on his arms and neck standing on end. His power doubled— _ tripled _ —and he could feel it deep in his core, an untapped well of strength and pugnacity desperate to be released.

The door opened, just as he burst through the still hot hole in the glass, and several things happened at once.

A black chair, piloted by a squat bald man, a child, and a woman, missed Vegeta’s head by a hair. The same black chair rocketed past him, and struck a rage filled Zarbon square in the chest, knocking him flat against the glass and cracking it, before the chair came to a sudden jolting stop, and someone yelled his name.

“Hey, Prince asshole!” He wheeled around, and saw her, triumphant and fierce, her hair flying and her eyes burning. “You’re in big fuckin’ trouble!” She shouted, and everything came crashing down at once.

“ _ Bulma? _ ”

“V-Vegeta, you bastard!” Zarbon shouted down below, getting up from the cracked glass. The chair turned, and Vegeta realised with joint horror and surprise that Bulma was piloting it, and the other two powered it, gripping the edges with ki filled fists. Zarbon made to shoot up, and Vegeta remembered himself, hurling a rain of blasts down on his head and forcing Zarbon to duck and take cover.

This was not how it was meant to happen, this wasn’t how it was meant to play out!

His plans fell apart like castles in the sand and he realised with growing fear that his one source of hot meals, his one source of Dragon Ball radars, and his one and only source of conversation was knee deep in Frieza’s throne, and only a few hundred yards from Frieza himself.

He swung around, catching the chair as it passed, shaking with rage and something else. “What are you doing here? What are any of you doing here?” He snarled at them, and Gohan and Krillin jumped back.

Bulma didn’t flinch; she grabbed his breastplate by the neck, and yanked him forward. “Saving your ass! Catch me!” She jumped into his arms, and he caught her awkwardly. 

Out of the smoke, Zarbon emerged, shaking with anger. “You fucking bastard!” Behind him, the smoke clearing, was a single, pale figure, crowned with horns, and Vegeta might have dropped Bulma if she hadn’t grabbed him around the neck.

“Ready?” She shouted over her shoulder. Gohan and Krillin gripped the chair’s sides, and nodded. “Now!”

Zarbon raised his hand to fire, and Frieza opened his mouth to say something, and Krillin and Gohan’s ki surged through them and into the chair. The throne lurched forward, and Zarbon’s blast left his hand, and Vegeta tightened his grip on Bulma realising what she’d done.

The blast and chair met with metallic clang, and an explosion tore through the air. Before he turned away, ki surrounding him in a halo, he felt Frieza’s eyes claw at him, just as the chair and ki blast burst into a hail of burning plasma.

“Let’s get out of here!” Krillin cried, and they took off across the water.

Krillin and Gohan hooted and whooped, spinning around and slapping each other heartily on the back as the hulking form of Frieza’s ship disappeared from view around a bend, black smoke spewing into the air.

Someone slapped Vegeta’s back several times, and it took him a long moment before he realised it was Bulma, kicking her legs out and laughing. “ _ Yes! Yes! Yes! Did you see that? I can’t believe that worked! _ ”

“You’re a genius, Bulma!” Gohan confirmed.

Vegeta blinked, and the adrenaline started to give way, and he realised that the woman clung to him like a child, her arms around his neck and shoulders, legs locked around his middle, and more worryingly, he held her flush in the same desperate way.

“Hey!” Her voice broke his train of thought. She grinned, cheeks glowing pink. “Are you ok?”

He stared. He couldn’t parse if she was asking about his current state, or in general. He felt her hair against his neck, one hand digging into his bare shoulder, and some terrifying realisation dawned in the back of his mind that drowned out every other thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I'm the bastard who wrote this section. Having trawled through the manga and watched these episodes on repeat I can safely say that everyone's original dialogue is extremely cheesy and silly, so I've taken the liberty of, not reproducing it, even though I'm out here uhhhhhhh rewriting entire canon scenes. This is probably the only extended scene like this, and the rest I'm cutting on purpose because look, we're all familiar w the source material, why else would we be here? So I hope this wasn't too much of a bother, and I assure you, its not gonna happen again
> 
> we just needed that sweet sweet context for later
> 
> also one night, early on in planning this, Nathan said "I want Bulma to steal Frieza's chair" and I said "Grand theft Bulma" and that's how we came up with the title.
> 
> -Ronnie


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> local alien man catches a case of the cooties, and its terminal.

 

“Are you ok?” Bulma asked, her eyes watering in the wind. Vegeta started, eyes wide, the colour drained from his face. He went to say something, and his expression changed.

“Someone’s tailing us!” Gohan called from behind.

Vegeta stiffened, and a dark smile crossed his face. “That’ll be Zarbon!”

“The green guy?” Krillin asked, appearing beside them.

Bulma adjusted her grip, moving so she could see Gohan and Krillin clearly, and Vegeta if possible, became stone. “You two! Get to that other Dragon Ball that Dende told you about! Get it and hide it and then ring me, ok?”

“And don’t fly around like idiots with it, parading it everywhere like a trophy!” Vegeta heaved. Bulma loosened her grip around his neck and he cleared his throat. “I’m going to take care of Zarbon.”

“O-okay, Gohan, come on—Bulma, are you going to be alright?” Krillin asked, giving her a pleading look. He jerked his head towards Vegeta and mouthed ‘ _ Banana? _ ’

“Just get out of here! You know where to find me!” She snapped.

With one last anxious look, Krillin and Gohan veered off across the water, the trail from their ki fading in seconds. Vegeta tried to juggle her around, slowing down a fraction to look behind him at the mountains, where black smoke still smudged the sky. “I’m going to rip that bastard’s heart out,” he snarled.

“Charming!” Bulma quipped. “Could we land before you do that?”

“And you what the hell were _ you _ thinking? What kind of stunt was that?”

“You know on Earth we have this weird custom where you say ‘thank you’ after someone helps you!”

“I don’t need your help!” He shouted.

With a roll of her eyes, Bulma let it go. “Is that other guy still following us?”

Vegeta grunted.

“Ok, well, please don’t do anything drastic, ok?”

She waited for the tirade but he just looked away with another one of his standard scoffs, before bowing his head, and accelerating with the force to knock the wind out of her. They streaked across the sky, following the edge of the sea and past islands, until Vegeta pulled up, crushing Bulma in his halt, and dropped to the planet floor. He let go and Bulma trotted across the grass, spinning around to face him. “You know, I’m almost getting used to flying!” She said, with a smile.

He scowled but there was nothing to it.

A roar sounded in the distance, and Bulma’s head snapped up. Between the green haze and clouds, a burning star hurtled towards them, and her stomach plummeted. She’d been so focused on getting Vegeta back, on making sure that he was alive that any fear had been overwhelmed and blocked out, but now icy tendrils spread out from her heart, and down her spine. Something warm touched her forearm, and she jumped, and Vegeta lifted his hand away with a start.

“Stay out of the way,” he warned, face stern. He walked past her, his shoulder grazing hers. Bulma rubbed the place where his hand touched her, and realised he’d flown back to the cave mouth.

He approached the middle of a clearing, his fingers clenching in a familiar nervous movement, but he settled into his usual proud stance, his tail wrapping tail out of the way. Another figure wreathed in power shot down from the sky and landed on the earth with a thump, their cloak flying.

She knew Vegeta wasn’t a tall man, but between herself, Gohan and Krillin, she hadn’t realised just how small he was until the other alien tossed his head, and loomed over him. His chiseled face contorted into a wicked sneer, folding his arms across his broad chest. “You’ve made a fool out of me, Vegeta!” He called across the meadow. “Frieza’s lost quite a bit of faith in me!”

“That’s hardly my problem, now is it?” Vegeta laughed.

The other alien, Zarbon, caught sight of Bulma, and she went still. She took a step back under the weight of his stare. “I recognise that pitiful alien with you; I take it you’re working together, then?”

“Hardly,” Vegeta replied.

“It doesn’t matter anyway, where did you stash those Dragon Balls? You can either tell me now or I can beat it out of you,” Zarbon threatened, walked forward, shoulders squared.

The spell keeping Bulma’s legs rooted to the spot broke, and she moved back towards the cave, keeping her gaze fixed on the two of them, careful not to move too fast and draw Zarbon’s attention again. They started to pace, circling each other, and even from a distance, she could see a smile breeching Vegeta’s lips. “I’d like to see you try.”

Zarbon sniffed, cracking his neck.  “You never learn.”

He thrust his arms out, and his body expanded, muscles bursting in his armour and his face swelling into a monstrous beast. He lurched forward, careening through the air and Vegeta ducked, belly to the ground, and was up again faster than Bulma’s eyes could follow. Zarbon’s bulging fist struck the place where Vegeta’s head was, tearing through the rock with a resounding crack. He spun around, and Vegeta appeared high above his head.

“Did you really think I’d just let you run away?” Zarbon bellowed, shooting after him. Vegeta threw something, and Bulma frowned, expecting a blast but Zarbon stopped in his tracks, groaning and reaching for his face. “ _ Urgh! Damn it _ !”

Vegeta appeared behind Zarbon in an instant, and drove his fist into Zarbon’s back with a thunderclap, armour splintering. Bulma gaped, unable to rip her gaze away. He’d been strong when he’d taken on Dodoria; she’d seen how he’d disposed of him in minutes, but even she could see that something in him had changed since then. Every punch had the weight of a mountain behind it.

Zarbon careened through the air, a hole in his armour. Vegeta followed, and when Zarbon righted himself, Vegeta brought both his fists down on his head, and with one well aimed kick, sent him into the water with a towering splash. Boiling ki blasts rained down into the water, exploding on impact, each hit leaving Bulma’s ears pounding. She stood up, shielding her eyes against the glare, watching as blast after blast fell in a meteor shower, throwing up hundreds of litres of water, pounding into the planet’s crust.

Her bones ached, mouth full of hot iron. She’d known, in theory, Vegeta could destroy planets, but she’d never been able to imagine it until now.

Something shot out from the water, and the blasts stopped, but the ringing in Bulma’s ears didn’t. Zarbon and Vegeta landed hard with a few dozen metres between them in a standoff. Zarbon’s armour slipped off his shoulders, crumbling with each step. “You’re going to pay for that you little runt!”

“Feeling tired? Looks like your final hour is drawing near,” Vegeta jeered, bending his knees, his fists at the ready.

“ _ My  _ final hour?” Zarbon roared, spittle flying. “Don’t make me laugh, my power eclipses yours!”

Vegeta started to circle, prowling on the edge of Zarbon’s range, like a buzzard over a kill. “I thought you were supposed to know everything about Saiyans, Zarbon? Surely you remember how each time we come back from the brink of death, our power increases? Sticking me in an Isolation Chamber was a careless move on your part; but I’ll thank you later.”

“I don’t care how much your power has risen,” Zarbon snarled. “I’ll snap your neck myself!”

They launched themselves at each other, and the ground trembled. Every punch and block sounded with a heavy thud that Bulma felt through the earth. It happened too fast to follow, each jab and kick happening faster than she could process, but she could see something slipping in Vegeta. His eyes burned, and the sweat gleamed on his skin, and a feral look flashed across his face that made her shudder. His movements became bigger, stronger, more reckless. Zarbon landed a hit, throwing Vegeta back, but he dug his heels into the mud.

Bulma ripped the zip open on her fanny pack, fumbling for the capsule box, keeping her eyes on the fight across the clearing. She flicked the box open, as Vegeta’s knee struck Zarbon hard in the stomach, but Zarbon grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling him away and drawing back his fist—

A wrench bounced off Zarbon’s temple, and he blinked, and his grip slipped enough for Vegeta to swing around, and kick him in the side.

“Wh-what?”

A hammer flew from Bulma’s hand, and Zarbon ducked with a maddened growl.

“ _ You little— _ !”

He coughed, and Vegeta’s fist pierced through Zarbon’s chest armour like paper. Zarbon shuddered, grabbing Vegeta’s head to headbutt him, but he gurgled, and dark blood trickled down Vegeta’s arm, and Bulma realised too late, he’d thrust his whole hand into Zarbon’s gut, just below his ribcage.

“I was only following orders,” Zarbon spluttered, eyes rolling. “M-mercy, please!”

“Really, Zarbon.” Vegeta forced his fist deeper, up to the wrist, blood staining his glove. His tone grows bored, terrifyingly calm. “To ask me for mercy are years of treating me like a slave? The nerve of you.”

“You and I could work together,” Zarbon managed, blood starting to ooze from the corner of his mouth. His hands shook, still holding Vegeta’s skull, as if trying to move him away, and with cold realisation Bulma understood what he intended.

“Together, we could beat Frieza!”

Vegeta hesitated, and Zarbon took the opening. He twisted Vegeta’s head, until a red tool box swung around and collided with back of Zarbon’s thick neck. Tools went flying, the box crumpling like tin, and Zarbon teetered forward like a felled tree, his hands slipping. Vegeta slammed his fist higher, bones snapping, and a blast ripped through out the other side of Zarbon’s back in a haze of blood and light. Zarbon’s body flew back in a graceful arc, with trailing streamers of blood and sinew until he fell into the water with a deep, and final splash.

“Oh my God,” Bulma said, finally, the water settling. Her knees threatened to buckle, and Vegeta’s arm thrust out in front of her. Bulma shook her head, staring at the spot where Zarbon’s body disappeared, sinking like a stone. “Oh my God,  _ oh my God _ ,” she whispered. Vegeta gave his arm an impatient shake, until her knees gave out, and she clutched onto his arm.

“Woman,” he warned.

“He’s dead!” She gripped his arm, leaning into his shoulder to keep herself upright. “Oh my God, he’s dead and I killed him!”

Vegeta raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, wiping his bloody hand on his side.

She pulled him into a hug, arms around his neck, bouncing, and Vegeta grew still. “You did it! We _ did it _ !”

“I guess—yes, yes we did do it,” Vegeta confirmed, clearing his throat.

She hugged him tighter, hanging from him, and he began to shake. She started to pull back, but stopped. He was laughing, his normally severe features softened, and a grin unlike anything she’d ever seen crossed his face. “He’s gone!”

He relaxed, the tension leaving his frame, and Bulma realised that he was younger than she had first thought. She’d thought he was in his mid thirties given how much he scowled and how gruffly he spoke, but now she could see he was maybe only a few years older than her, if that. For a brief moment, she saw him as just a young man, without the weight of tyrants on his shoulders.

His arm brushed against her, slipping around her back without him noticing.

All memory of Zarbon vanished, all thoughts of Frieza were obliterated in a blinding flash. Krillin, Gohan and everyone else slipped from her mind, and there was only the rush of leftover adrenaline fighting for release. The pressure grew too much, bursting at the seams and into her joints; Bulma took his cheeks in both hands, and pressed her mouth to his still laughing. 

Panic struck hard and fast, and she stopped herself too late. Every fibre in his body turned to stone, and she realised what she had done.

She went to rip her hands free, and get away before the bomb went off but he turned his face towards her, and the shadow of his grin remained. He seemed confused, but not angry. His hand found hers, not wrenching it away braced for, but not doing anything else; he just held it in place, wide eyed, and—lost.

He leaned in, and Bulma didn’t know what she was expecting, but it wasn’t him holding their lips together awkwardly, and scowling up a storm. He made no attempt to move, or engage in it further than having his mouth against hers, and reality came crashing in around her and she broke away laughing anew.

“Oh, man!” Bulma spluttered, reeling back.

“You started it!” He barked, voice breaking. He’d gone redder than Namek’s suns.

“I mean, you’re not wrong but—!”

A breeze tousled her hair, and the world returned. The constant smell of rain, the warm air, and Vegeta standing half poised, his armour broken, tunic ripped, and every hair on his tail standing on end like a startled cat. He grit his jaw, and it was a wonder he didn’t snap it. “Yes, well,” he huffed, looking away. “That’ll teach you.”

“Teach me to  _ what? _ ”

He crossed his arms, and his breastplate cracked further. “To try and take me by surprise!” He sneered, in a desperate attempt at mocking.

“More like, teach me that you have no idea what you’re doing, eh, tough guy?” Bulma blurted, eyes watering as she struggled to keep her hysterics in check. She couldn’t help herself.

Vegeta stamped his foot in protest, his smug facade shattering.

“How  _ dare _ you—? I-it’s not like—! I was _ trying _ to—!”

She could see his brain working feverishly, trying to grasp at one last scatthing retort but coming up empty.

He gave up with a frustrated cry, teeth bared. “You will not speak of this again!” He snarled.

Bulma’s hands flew to her face, trying to push her laughter down physically, and he took off towards the cave, his hands stuck by his side.

“Hey, hey, hey!” She called, trotting after him, picking up stray tools as she passed. “Look, I know I was teasing, but I was just kidding!” She lifted up her shirt to make a hammock, and piled her pliers, her wrenches, her hammer and hard rubber mallet into it, following him into the cave. The door opened, and slammed, and Bulma tried not to laugh again.

She knew she should be frightened, or worried, or even guilty, but she just couldn’t be. He’d kissed her, and he’d earnestly tried, but his idea of  _ trying _ was  _ trying to beat her _ . She shouldered open the door, wandering into the kitchen, and dumped the tools on the counter.

“For what it’s worth,” she started, the words half way out her mouth before she realised what she was saying. “I thought it was nice!”

“As always, you’ve conveniently forgotten who you are speaking with,” Vegeta said, with little conviction. He’d buried himself in the fridge, rummaging through the vegetable crisper and stacking tupperware containers full of food into his arms. She knew he didn’t know how to cook those, he just wanted to look busy.

“I am perfectly aware who you are, thank you, and it doesn’t put me off one bit,” Bulma replied, quickly counting up her spanners to make sure she had all of them. It’d been a good idea at the time, but now she realised just how annoying it would be in the future. Where was she going to put all these now that her tool box was demolished?

Vegeta ripped the lid off a tupperware container and peered inside critically. His skin was no longer beet red, but his cheeks were still flushed. “Food, then Dragon Balls,” he said, stiffly.

“Ok, well you’re not going to eat cold pasta, you’re not an animal,” Bulma said, plucking the tupperware container from him and stuffing it into the microwave. He leaned against the counter, arms folded, and eyes closed. Bulma prodded him lightly in the arm and he glared. “So, what didya do with ‘em?”

“Do with what, woman?” He growled.

“The Dragon Balls.”

“Threw them.”

Bulma gave a long, slow blink. “I don’t know what I was expecting,” she said, finally. The microwave dinged, and she opened the door.

“I know where they landed,” he snapped, defensively. She pushed the container against his still crossed arms, and when he made no move to take it, she pushed harder until he snatched it from her hands with an arched tail. She gave him a fork, and he promptly started wolfing down the contents.

God, she’d really kissed  _ that _ , huh?

While he stuffed food into his mouth with little to no chewing, Bulma took a moment to slip out the radar from her fanny pack, and take a well deserved seat on couch. Her ankle throbbed, and after pulling her sock down briefly to check, she guessed she’d set herself back by maybe a day or two.

She flicked the radar on, and it pinged. Among the fine green lines that made up the topographic rendering of Namek’s surface, five points glowed, scattered across a mountain side, relatively close together. She zoomed out, and tried to calculate the distance from roughly where Frieza’s ship had been when she’d last looked at the radar.

He’d pelted those things just over fifteen kilometres away across the lake. In all honesty, she didn’t know why that surprised her.

The hairs on her neck prickled, and out of the corner of her eye, Vegeta leaned across the counter, bobbing his head to see the screen. Bulma sighed, and stuck her arm out with the radar above her head for him. 

“What are you planning?” She asked, leaning her head back on the couch cushions. He grunted somewhere above her head, and she heard him push the container away.

“To hide them,” he said, simply. A stool scraped and his boots sounded across the laminated kitchen floor. He appeared out of the corner of her eye heading towards the door, adjusting his battered armour.

“Hey, now,” she started to say, but when he looked up, the words crumbled. She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t smart to go out there again so soon, to tell him to be careful about Frieza’s men around every corner, to tell him to at least wait until she could figure out a way to fix his armour—anything, any excuse to stop him from—! Oh  _ no _ .

“ _ What? _ ”

“Just—! Just try to stay alive at least, please, can you promise me that?” She pleaded. She hated that well worn familiarity in her voice, the desire to help but knowing there was nothing she could do. When he didn’t move, she threw up her hands. “Ugh! Or don’t, whatever! Don’t bother with whatever sarcastic remark you have, I’ve heard them all.”

“I’ll try to,” came his gruff response.

“Try what?”

“To stay alive,” he drawled, flicking some dirt and dried blood off his leggings with a frown, before adding, with a hint of a smile. “If only to see the look on your face when I truly do become immortal.”

“Well, it’s something at least,” she said, but her tone was grateful.

In that moment, something about him changed, something in the way that he held himself and the way he looked at her. He was still arrogant and defiant, and pride still oozed from every pore like the stuck up little prince he no doubt was, but now she saw that it was one part show, and one part defence. He had carefully crafted a personality that demanded respect to keep himself alive and to give himself purpose, but it cracked at the seams under stress, and softened when he relaxed, and now she realised, when he spoke to her.

Her mind blanked, and treacherous words formed in her throat.

“If you come back alive and not half dead, I could always teach you.”

“What could you possibly teach me?” Vegeta replied with fake vitriol.

“How to kiss like you’re not trying to win a wrestling match,” she said.

His mouth trembled with the effort to maintain his smug aura, but she could see it caving in just like it had done dozens of times before. “ _ Oh? _ ”

“ _ Oh? _ ” She copied.

They watched each other in a baited standoff, urging the other to make the first move. Bulma tried not to dig her nails into her thighs, and Vegeta seemed to stop breathing. The handle clicked, the door swung open, and the tension grew thick as mud. Vegeta’s tail slipped from the handle and returned around his waist. He looked away, at the battle was over.

He cleared his throat, leaning on the door handle with a wave of his hand. “Whatever, I don’t care what you do, I have more important things to consider right now.”

_ Consider, huh? _

He slipped out the door, and Bulma resisted the urge to get up and follow him, if only to say goodbye. The door shut with another faint click, and Bulma was suddenly alone with her thoughts.

She let go of her thighs, leaving angry red marks where her nails bit into her skin, and her brain finally caught up with the rest of her actions.

That dumb little jerk, he had no right to make her of all people feel like a giddy teenager! Why the hell did she want him to like her so much, why was it even important?

_ How the hell did he do that? _

***

 

_ How the hell did she do that? _

Vegeta landed a little harder than he intended and stumbled. The five Dragon Balls he’d thrown had all landed in roughly the same place, scattered across a wide meadow in the shelter imposing red cliffs and the water’s edge. Squinting against the glare, he turned his attention to the sea, and on the distant horizon he could just make out the edge of Frieza’s ship poking out from behind a bluff. The smoke had stopped rising finally, but he could still smell it on the wind, hot and acrid.

He made his way to the first Dragon Ball, keeping an ear out for anyone approaching.

That damn woman, why the hell did he like her so much? No,  _ why did he tolerate her so much? _ He corrected himself. He tolerated her and he put up with her, he didn’t  _ enjoy _ her company—at least not as much as his chest seemed to think he did, especially when she threw her arms about him in an embrace.

He kicked the Dragon Ball lightly with the end of his boot making it softly chime, before he nudged it over across the grass towards the others, deep in thought.

It was shameless how she’d just done that, with no thought and no respect! And to think that she would assume that he’d want her to perform that act again? Ha! She wasn’t technically wrong, of course, but it was only because his curiosity had been piqued, nothing more—

_ You stupid buffoon, she’s got you wrapped around her finger! _

Vegeta kicked the Dragon Ball too hard and it crashed into the others with a heavy  _ BONG. _ He gave the Ball a quick once over before he resumed kicking it towards a narrow gorge between the cliffs. He couldn’t take all of them back with him, he could barely hold onto one while he was flying the things were so slippery and awkward, but the way the woman had reacted last time to him throwing one into the water was something he didn’t care to repeat.

At some point, a river must have flowed through this part in the cliff, cutting the rock away and wearing it down until a narrow gorge with steep, smooth walls remained. The Namek’s constant didn’t reach the bottom, and in the cool shadow, mosses and other plants clung to the stone. Vegeta kicked the Dragon Ball down the riverbed, disturbing a few frogs and insects until he decided that it was far enough in to be hidden from view. He peered up at the narrow strip of sky visible between the walls. You’d have to be flying right overhead and looking straight down to see them; this was as good of a hiding place as any on this barren old rock.

Bulma would be satisfied with this—since when did he start mentally referring to her as  _ Bulma _ ? And why would it matter if she was satisfied or not?

Vegeta managed to collect the rest of the Dragon Balls and work them into the gorge, huddling them all together like the eggs of some unknown creature. He reached out with his dirty glove, and turned one of them, observing how the star in its core seemed to move with it. He cocked his head. These things were intriguing, he had to admit. And now that they were all tucked away out of sight, waiting to be used, he could head back to the woman.

His stomach leapt, and he cursed himself for it. Honestly, how did someone as weak and flimsy as herself manage to get his guts all in an anxious knot? Why was she the first thing his mind jumped too the moment he left her alone?

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he let out a long, rattling sigh. He was tempted to slap himself, but it wouldn’t do much except leave a welt. He had a feeling he could beat himself bloody and it still wouldn’t drive her from his mind.

Vegeta kicked off again, a little slower than usual, and little more carefully. Frieza would no doubt have ordered new scouters, and it’d take a least a week or more for them to arrive from the nearest outpost, and once they had arrived then there would be no hiding anymore. As much as he could hide his ki, he couldn’t make it miniscule and next to nothing like the Earthlings could, although, he reminded himself with a flush of pride, that was just simply because he was so much more powerful than them in the first place.

He made a mental note of the land around the gorge, the shape of the shore near the entrance, the grove of trees near its base, before he shot off in the direction of the cave. His damaged armour dragged in the air, the wind clawing at it and trying to tear it right from his body. It was annoying, more than anything, and though he didn’t believe he really needed it now, it offered him some peace of mind.  _ Just like that placebo thing _ . He almost fell out of the air at the thought, and shook his head with a growl. Every  _ time! _

Out of nowhere, a ki crossed his mind, and he recognised it instantly as the Earthlings. He spun around mid air, staring at a single point in the distance, where the bald one hurtled through the sky with a flashing orange ball in both hands. That idiot!

All of a sudden, Krillin looked up, and even from this distance, Vegeta could see all the colour leave his face.

“You damn well better be worried half pint!” Vegeta shouted, coming to a screeching halt in front of Krillin, ki coming off him in whispy blue smoke.

Krillin clutched the Dragon Ball close to his chest, blinking, “I’m… surprised you found me.”

“I have a certain talent for finding fools,” Vegeta scoffed. “What the hell do you think  _ you’re doing? _ ”

Krillin fumbled with the ball, and Vegeta refrained from snatching it from his hands there and then. “I got this from the Grand Elder.”

“And?”

“And I, uh... I was going to take it to Bulma,” Krillin explained, voice weak.

“Funny! I was just heading there myself.” Vegeta relished the fear in Krillin’s face, and the way he backed up and shrunk even in the air. Vegeta held out his hand, leer growing. “I’ll gladly take that off you and lighten your load.”

“I am  _ not  _ doing that,” Krillin said, turning away. “I’m giving this to Bulma, not you, she’s the one who trusts you, I don’t.”

Vegeta felt the cogs working in his brain grind to a halt. The woman trusts him?

“Good, because I don’t want you to trust me, I just want you to give me that Dragon Ball so I can get off this planet five minutes faster!” Vegeta spat. Something about this situation was off, and he raised an eyebrow, looking around. “Where’s Kakarot’s brat?”

“His name is Gohan.”

“I don’t care!”

“He’s, uh, around.”

“Around, huh?” Vegeta growled, looming over Krillin, his tail twitching.  “Around where?”

A voice called from behind them. “Hey Krillin!” Gohan appeared out of the hazy cloud cover, a familiar device in hand. He looked up, and his smile faded. “Oh—Uh, hi, Mr… Vegeta.”

Vegeta eyed the two of them, and how Kakarot’s brat slid behind Krillin’s back, trying to hide the radar in his hand. He nodded to Gohan, dark eyes fixed on the child’s face. “Well, well, looks like someone has been busy—what have you got there?”

Gohan glanced around. “A watch.”

“To think a planet that has the technology to get you twerps to an entirely different solar system can’t make a watch of a smaller size,” he said, unable to hide the snideness to his tone. “I know what a Dragon Ball locator looks like, _ boy _ .”

“It was worth a try,” Krillin said, simply. He kept his eyes on Vegeta but turned his head towards Gohan. “What did you manage to find?”

“Five Dragon Balls all together not far from here,” Gohan explained.

Krillin adopted a false grin, slapping his knee and nodding. “Ha, wow, well did you hear that, Vegeta? Sounds like the ones from Frieza’s ship—!”

“I know, I’m the one who hid them there, congratulations on finding them but more importantly...” Vegeta ducked to the side around Krillin to confront Gohan. He tilted his head, looking down at him. He hated to admit it, but even without a tail, the boy still looked every bit a Saiyan, apart from the look of fear plastered across his face. “Where did you get that from, exactly?”

“Calm down, we got it from Dr Briefs, Bulma’s dad, back on Earth,” Krillin said, and Vegeta was almost impressed by the steel to his words. Something about him had changed, but he couldn’t quite place it. “He gave it to us when we went after the two of you.”

“That seems awfully convenient.”

Krillin sighed, brow knit. He pushed Gohan behind him more, and straightened his back to speak to Vegeta directly. “It’s the truth, not that you’d know anything about that. There’s no need to take it out on her.”

Blue ki flashed around Vegeta’s fist, but he let it fade away. It was warning enough. Gohan cleared his throat, stuffing the radar away into the silk sash around his middle. “Bulma didn’t give it to us, we haven’t spoken to her since we last saw you.”

“Hmph.”

They had a point, he’d been with Bulma that entire time, and they hadn’t spoken to her before the last communication over the ‘phone’. Vegeta let himself relax a little, and he was surprised by his own voice when he said, “listen up because I’m only going to say this once: keep your stupid heads down, Frieza’s likely to have his men crawling over the planet’s surface looking for me, and to a lesser extent you. His men do not have scouters anymore, can they can’t track energy, so they’re blind until new scouters arrive from off planet. It might also do you good to pay better attention to your surroundings.”

“Huh, thanks, Vegeta,” Krillin said, his guard dropping a little. “That’s… that’s actually very helpful of you.”

“Whatever,” Vegeta grunted. “The only reason I bothered is because it is more beneficial to me to have allies against Frieza, at least for the moment.”

“Makes sense. Well, in any case, thanks.” Krillin clenched his teeth, and Vegeta could hear him grinding. He lifted his head, and offered the Dragon Ball. “Look, you know what? I don’t like admitting it, but the Dragon Ball is safer with you.”

“Krillin!”

“I’m glad you’re finally seeing reason,” Vegeta remarked.

“It’s a sign of good faith to Bulma. I told her that I didn’t trust you to not hurt her, and I begged her to come with us, and I said some things I shouldn’t have,” Krillin explained, carefully. A breeze blew between them, and his gi fluttered in the wind. “She made us go looking for you, she risked her life to get you back, even though she could have easily just left with us, and we could have forgotten this whole thing. I don’t trust you, hell, if it had been up to me I would have left you where you fell, but she trusts you, and… I trust Bulma.”

Vegeta kept quiet. He wanted to spit and scream that he didn’t care about what the Earthling thought of him, and that he should have left him to die, because that was an honorable death, but he bit his tongue.

The words settled into the deepest silt of his brain.  _ She trusts you _ .

Krillin shook the Dragon Ball, and Vegeta hauled himself back to the present. Glaring, he snatched the Dragon Ball from Krillin’s outstretched hand, tucking it up under his arm and Vegeta growled, “tch, if you’re finished with your pointless drivel, I’ll take my leave.”

“Fine, don’t let us stop you,” Krillin said, still shielding Gohan from the worst of Vegeta’s glower.

Vegeta sucked in a sharp breath, and let it out, the ki flaring around his body. He swallowed down some bitter pride, and said over the hiss of his ki, “if you want to ring the woman that’s fine, but I have the communicator.”

Krillin frowned, taken aback. “Uh, sure, we’ll keep that in mind.”

In a flash, Vegeta was gone.

 

***

 

Bulma picked apart the whorls and patterns on the white wash ceiling, tracing the movements of her father’s hand when he had painted the inside of the Capsule house. He was a handyman by trade as well as a scientist, and Bulma knew that he built and designed the Capsule house and its derivatives by hand, with old fashioned materials and tools that his father had used. He had robots and production lines to make things, but he always preferred to use his hands, and it gave everything he created a personal touch.

Bulma ran her fingers across the carpet, and tilted her head to see the tools scattered across the floor, and the crumpled remains of her toolbox; her  _ dad’s _ toolbox. She couldn’t bare the thought of leaving it even though she knew it wasn’t salvageable. She’d trudged out into the churned up clay field, and picked up the pieces she could find, along with some of her missing spanners.

She placed them all out on the floor, arranging them out and making sure nothing was missing, or damaged, and then given up. If she had some sheet metal, or even just some wood, she could have made a simple old box to put them in, and then maybe when she got home she could spend some more time and effort creating something nice.

Bulma eyed the clock on the wall, still ticking away to Earth’s time, and two hours had passed since Vegeta had left. She didn’t like admitting it, but she missed having him around; he was good value.

“ _ Uuugh! _ ” She pulled at her fringe in frustration.

God, what were Krillin and Gohan going to think if they found out she believed Vegeta could help them? Let alone that she thought that he could change for the better, that he might be an alright person, and that she’d kissed him. Twice now. What was everyone  _ else _ going to think? Chi-chi would string her up from the rafters if she found out!

She rubbed her eyes, moaning, “Bulma, you dumb idiot!”

“Agreed.”

She jumped on the floor, and she saw Vegeta’s boots on the threshold. He leaned in the doorway, Dragon Ball under one arm, and Bulma sat up. “Oh, you’re one to talk!” She snapped, earning a snigger, before Vegeta strode through the door and dumped the Dragon Ball on the lounge. “What innocent alien did you accost to get that one from then?” Bulma asked, nodding to it.

He flicked the Dragon Ball, and the surface tolled. “Your weak Earth friends,” he said, stepping over her carefully laid out tools and peering down at her. She let the remark go unchallenged; he gloated, but she knew it wasn’t a threatening gloat. Besides, the curve of his brow told her he had more pressing concerns.

“I’m tired,” she answered his unspoken question.

“You have a bed.”

Bulma rolled her eyes, and lay down on the floor again with a grunt. She grabbed the cushion she’d been using for a pillow and pulled it under her head, looking up at the ceiling. “The floor’s fine,” she announced, rubbing her face. “Where were they headed?”

Vegeta shrugged. “I don’t care.”

“Fat lot of help you are.”

“They were returning from some Grand Elder with the Dragon Ball and flying around in the open like a couple of fools,” he said, irritably. He watched her for a moment in silence, and dropped to the floor. Blinking, Bulma lifted her head a fraction, and Vegeta sat down on the carpet a little away from her, his back up against the lounge, and his legs neatly crossed. He folded his arms and closed his eyes in that usual apathetic way of his, and she couldn’t help a shrewd smile. It reminded her of Piccolo meditating, but where as Piccolo looked deadly calm, Vegeta just looked deadly.

“You have a lounge,” Bulma offered, sweetly.

“Hmph.”

“Well, fine, just don’t dirty up my carpet with mud and blood and whatever else you’ve rolled in lately,” she yawned, her gaze returning to the ceiling. She already felt better with him back.

“They wanted to bring you the Dragon Ball themselves,” he said with some hint of a question.

Bulma snorted. “That’d be right,” she said, before looking at him. He had one dark eye open, fixed on her. “And I suppose you told them that you’d be a better chaperone for it?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know what a ‘chaperone’ is.”

“I know what ‘context’ is, woman.”

Bulma stifled a laugh, breaking off with a low whistle. It’d been a long time since any of his insults or scornful comments had any bite to them, he could muster up that disparaging tone but there was no weight, no real desire to harm. She tried to think about when the last time he actually tried to be derogatory, but couldn’t really place it. It had happened so slowly, she’d barely noticed it until now.

“Can I ask you something?” She saw his arms tighten around his chest, and he grunted. She clicked her tongue, cocking her head, and laid out the bait. “When did you decide you liked me, tough guy?”

Vegeta started, and she saw the shiver ripple down his tail. He looked away, glaring at the floor so hard he might have burned a hole in it at any other time. He worked his mouth around some unpleasant taste, and wondered if she’d crossed a line. “I don’t.”

“ _ Really? _ ”

“How about you answer me, then?” He snapped, rounding on her. “You can’t keep your hands off me! What does that say about you?”

“That I’m very hands on,” Bulma laughed, causing him to go even redder. “Fine, if you’re going to be like that, I won’t admit anything if you won't admit anything.”

“I won’t admit anything because there’s nothing to admit to,” he growled.

“Is that why you’re sitting on the floor with me?” She asked with a coy smile.

“ _ Shut up! _ ” He slammed his fists on the ground, and the house shook. “Fine!” He barked, glaring at the carpet, his teeth bared. Bulma jerked upright, pulling her legs underneath her. She narrowed her eyes, trying to puzzle out what he was referring to, but he answered it for her. Speaking through gritted teeth, his shoulders hunched, he forced the words out like the most bile of them all. “ _ Teach me _ .”

It was Bulma’s turn to go red now, her eyes wide. Vegeta stared her down like a rabid wolf, energy rippling up and down his arms into the carpet, the shag starting to smoke. Bulma composed herself with a hooded smle. “Not if you’re going to be rude about it.”

“ _ Rude? _ ” He shrieked.

“Yeah, Vegeta, screaming and ordering people around isn’t exactly nice, you know,” Bulma explained, scooting a little closer to him. She could feel herself regaining control of the situation, maintaining the upper hand. Vegeta’s pride would never let him admit that he ‘liked’ her on any level, at least not to her face, but he wasn’t taking off to go destroy a mountain, or more importantly, her.

“If you promise not to blow me up, I’m still keen,” she admitted, tossing her hair, but the fearless Bulma Briefs found her confidence peeling away under pressure. She’d never doubted her abilities before, but now that she was faced with a shuddering Vegeta on the verge of blowing Namek to oblivion, she was a nervous boy crazy sixteen year old again.

 

***

 

Bulma just watched him, eyes wide, and Vegeta felt his war fueled adrenaline fading, swallowed up by that now seemingly ever present foreign feeling again. Embarrassment. He untangled his fingers from the carpet, leaving foul smelling singed holes, and he made to get to his feet, to take off out the door, but his legs refused to obey.

She was smarter than him, by far the smartest person he’d ever encountered; he could fix and he could tinker but she could build anything she dreamed up. She had no power, no ki, but she was as fierce as any Saiyan, with more guts than those who had the power to crush her. She didn’t care for power, she made her own by other means, and it was more intimidating than Frieza’s pale hand. 

He stopped himself. Some desperate, fearful voice cried out in the back of his skull.  _ We’re not equals _ !

He was Prince of all Saiyans! Not some low born wretch. He’d ripped apart planets to their molten core and he’d torn through armies like paper. Power was the most important thing, the  _ only _ thing, and the storm of ki that had existed in his chest since childhood had grown into a wild tempest was what was important. Why the hell would someone like her  _ intimidate _ him?

Vegeta shook the thought from his head with a groan. He ripped his gaze from the ground, fixing her with a glare, daring her to do something, anything, just something that would break this tension! Why was she not  _ saying _ anything?

Bulma sighed, and his muscles suddenly released. She smoothed the front of her shirt, and pushed her hair back behind her ears in a single graceful movement, and moved closer across the floor. Before he realised, she was in front of him, kneeling on the carpet and her hands resting chaste on her lap. She chewed her lip, narrowing her eyes at him and the tempo of her tiny sliver of ki had changed— _ she’s nervous? _

Bulma lifted her hand, reaching out, and hesitated.

Did she fear him? Did she regret her offer?

Her palm touched his face, soft and warm, and he dared not breathe. Every tendon, every nerve, every iron threw screamed for him to rip her hand from him, to snap her wrist before she could grab his throat, but she offered him a gentle smile, and it quieted. She leaned in, and he tried not to pull away instinctively.

He could feel her erratic pulse through her hand, but her breath was cool against his skin. She opened her eyes, and blinked, pulling back. “You’re meant to shut your eyes,” Bulma grinned, glacial silence melting in an instant.

“W-what? Why?” He blurted, voice hoarse.

She laughed, and he jumped at the suddenness, ready to bolt at the first sign of mocking. She placed a hand on his chest, drumming her fingers on his armour thoughtfully. “Huh! You know, I’ve not really thought about it—it’s just something you do!” She closed her own eyes with a smile, settling back on her knees slightly, her hands returning to her lap. Vegeta didn’t move, and she laughed again, opening one clever eye. “Ok, I was giving you an opening there, you are more than welcome to just try yourself. Look, it’s fine! Don’t overthink it! You’ll know what to do.”

_ I highly doubt that _ . Vegeta released his fists, hands aching, and frowned at her. She kneeled in front of him, her hair tied back out of her face, her chin up and her mouth curved into a warm, inviting smile that made the blood pound in his ears. She was giving him an opening, allowing him to make the first move. He fumbled with his gloves, ripping them off and stuffing them inside his tunic; he was thankful that she couldn’t see how much he trembled.

“Are you alright? It’s awfully quiet over there,” Bulma sounded.

“I-I’m fine!” He choked.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, you know, it’s ok—!”

“ _I’m_ _fine_!” The floor shuddered, and he cursed himself for raising his voice, but she just grinned.

He licked his lips, fighting the desire to bury his face in his hands and tear the skin right from his bone. He leaned forward, and the smell of her shampoo caught in the back of his throat, sweet and honeyed, and another warm rush spread to his marrow. Bulma chuckled under her breath, and he felt it across his ribs, and with a final, desperate attempt to swallow his pride, he pressed his mouth experimentally to hers.

Bulma’s instruction about closing his eyes blared but he couldn’t make himself do it. It would make this too intimate, make him too vulnerable; he’d hoped doing the opposite would somehow make him feel like he had control over the situation, but it didn’t, and even blind, Bulma was a formidable opponent.

The moment her lips grazed his, he felt his resolve slipping, his chest seizing. She was soft, and warm, and terrifyingly gentle and it struck him harder than a blast to the chest. He braced himself for another blow and her nose pressed against his, and her cool breath caught him off guard all over again. He couldn’t keep up with her, he couldn’t block or parry all her movements, all the painful tenderness she offered.

This was no way to fight; if you wanted to understand and match your opponent you allowed them enough leeway to learn their movements, to learn their quirks and use them against them. He was fighting so hard to just keep his head above the water he hadn’t even considered letting the current take him. If he allowed himself to learn, he could crush the inadequacy and foolishness churning away in his stomach—but that was not a good enough reason to be engaging her in—in… _ this _ .

Bulma’s hand returned to his face, her fingers brushing along the edge of his jaw and a flush worked its way from head to tail. Vegeta couldn’t bring himself to call it what it was, but he didn’t want to pretend it wasn’t happening either. Her hand slipped, the warm ghost of her touch remaining, and immediately he wished it was still there. She leaned back, and he tried not to follow her. 

“Fuck,” she breathed.

“Wh-what?” He didn’t recognise his voice. It was pitiful.

Bulma looked away, hiding darkened cheeks and some smile that was worming its way across her mouth. She turned back to him, and her demeanor changed. “What’s Yamcha going to think when he’s back?”

“What the hell is a Yamcha?”

Bulma waved her hand, brushing her fringe out of her eyes. She rolled over and got to her feet, and Vegeta lurched forward to help, stopping short of actually reaching out to take her hand, and his hands snapped back to his side. He followed after her, suddenly worried.

“It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, he’s just someone I know,” she said, avoiding stepping on her tools and moving around the remains of the tool box. She spun around to face him, and his fists flared blue, caught off guard. “He… we were dating, well, I mean, not really honestly, we were an on again off again kinda couple, but more off than not,” she explained, voice tight.

“Couple?” Vegeta questioned, suddenly suspicious.

“Fuck, and he’s _ dead, _ ” she said shaking her head. “And I’m making out with the guy who killed him?”

He couldn’t figure out who she was talking to, or if she even realised she was. He racked his brain for people on Earth he’d killed. Apart from Kakarot, his son and the runt, he hadn’t really laid a hand on anyone else, it had all been Nappa and the Saibamen—his eyes grew wide, and he remembered a picture she’d shown him of a young, dark haired man holding the cat creature she loved so much.

“Oh, he was one of your pathetic Earth friends, was he?” Vegeta found himself asking, his voice returning.

The look he gave him turned his blood to ice. “ _ Yes,  _ one of  _ those _ ,” she said, firmly. “You killed him.”

Something clicked. Everything started to fall into place, suddenly it was all making sense. He’d known that she was planning to betray him all along, it didn’t take a genius to figure that out, but now he understood her motivations, and her reservation.

“If he’s dead, then it shouldn’t matter what he thinks,” Vegeta said, slowly. He could still feel the touch of her on his lips, and he resisted the urge to wipe his mouth. “Your plan has fallen apart!”

“What plan?” Bulma asked. He’d caught her out. He was right!

“You were planning to use the Dragon Balls to bring your friends back! That’s why you gave yourself up were so willing to put yourself into harm’s way, because there was a chance that you could use them before me, oh, how  _ very _ clever!” Vegeta laughed, pointing at Bulma with a snide grin. “Did you forget about that plan, or did it change?”

“It changed,” Bulma admitted, straightening herself up. Even in the face of certain death, she wouldn’t back down, she was more admirable than all the warriors he’d encountered. “That was what I was planning at first, you’re right, you got me. But when I realised what you were actually going to use them for... I-I changed my mind; because I saw Frieza, and I saw what you were up against and that it was more important than reviving my friends at that very moment. Ok? Besides, I could let you make your wish and then bring back the others in another year.”

“Another year? You have to wait between wishes?”

Bulma nodded, folding her arms hotly. “Yes, you do. Once you make your wish the Dragon Balls turn back to stone and scatter and they won’t become active again for another year or so. The Dragon Balls have other limitations about how long someone can be dead for and how they died in order to be brought back—!”

Vegeta’s brain snapped, and he saw red. “Limitations? They have  _ limitations _ ?” he spat, starting forward, grabbing her by the shoulders. “What other things about the Dragon Balls have you kept secret? If they have those kinds of limitations then are you sure that my wish to become immortal is even possible? Answer me! If I have been wasting my time on this planet—!”

“I don’t know!” she exclaimed. “I only know about Earth’s Dragon Balls, I don’t know if the Namekian ones have limits or if it’s even the same Dragon—! Ouch,  _ ouch, OUCH! _ Vegeta, let go of me!”

He let go in an instant, hands shaking, and she twisted free. Stunned, he didn’t stop her when she sprinted for the bedroom, and slammed the door shut behind her with a scream. With a maddened cry, he punched the wall and the house shuddered, every object not fixed flying off the shelves and tables with a simultaneous crash. He pulled his fist free from the wall, dust and debris trickling from his fingers and chided himself.

Careful, careful, you can’t break this _. You can’t break this. _

He forced down a painful lungful of air, and let it out through his nose as slowly as he could. He could only manage to hold his breath till the count of three before releasing it—but he was too caught up in the whirlpool of rage to drag himself out and snatched up the door handle, making to rip it free from the wood and kick it down but stopped himself.

_ You can’t, you can’t, you can’t! _

With a heavy thud, his crown hit the door, and he let out another, ragged breath. He sank to his knees, forehead pressed to the wood.

“Ok, you need to admit you have a problem with anger,” came her muffled reply.

Vegeta glared at the paint; there were still large glue filled cracks from last time he’d broken this door. This was fast becoming a habit. He closed his eyes and suppressed a groan.

“What are the other limitations?” He asked, finally, hoping his voice was calm. He couldn’t afford losing her trust now.

He heard her moving around on the other side of the door. “I don’t know, Vegeta, I’m telling you the truth. I’ve only seen them used a few times, and the rest I only know from stories. I’ve seen one other person try to wish for immortal life but the only reason they didn’t succeed was because Goku stopped them when he was a kid.”

“I see.”

The door clicked, and opened, and Vegeta reeled back. Bulma stood over him, leaning on the door handle with a glare that turned him to stone. Red marks bloomed on her shoulders and Vegeta looked away with a flash of guilt. “Don’t do that ever again,” she hissed.

He wouldn’t dream of it.

Something buzzed in Vegeta’s back pocket, and a familiar too cheery tune played. He ripped the communicator out, the screen flashing, and thrust it out for Bulma. She took it from him, giving him a narrow eyed glare before answering: “Hi Krillin.” Vegeta took advantage of the lapse in her attention, and scrambled to his feet. “Huh? Vegeta? Yeah, he’s here, why?”

Vegeta paused mid step, listening. Bulma caught his eye, and the hard line of her mouth softened.

“Yeah, he brought a Dragon Ball with him. It’s fine.”

He crossed the room with a flick of his tail, eyes set on the fridge. Bulma talked a little more, and gasped. “Oh, that’s great news!”

“What’s great?” Vegeta asked, hand half way towards the fridge door.

“Sorry, just one moment.” Bulma covered the receiver, and asked with a languid smile, “Would you like me to put it on speaker so you can also talk to Krillin?”

“I don’t want to talk to him!” He snapped.

“Then shut up and let me hear what he has to say and I’ll tell you in a minute!” She hissed, and Vegeta wrenched the fridge door open. In the moment she looked away to keep talking, Vegeta opened the freezer instead, and rummaged around for something inside. Damn it, he’d seen the woman pull one out of here before!

Bulma continued behind him, “sorry about that, Krillin, it’s only Vegeta wanting to know what you were say—well, I did offer to put you on speaker phone!” Bulma winced, holding the phone away from her ear as someone shouted on the end loud enough for Vegeta to hear from the kitchen. She turned to him slowly, brows raised, and covered the receiver again. “He said the same.”

“What do you mean?” Vegeta grumbled, snatching a tea towel up from the counter with his tail.

“You said you didn’t want to talk to him, and he doesn’t want to talk to you,” she explained, not bothering to cover the receiver this time. “Look, be quiet, and stop interrupting me, this is a private conversation—! And get your hands out of the freezer, there’s nothing in there for you, I’ll be thirty seconds! Sorry, Krillin, what was the other thing you wanted to tell me?”

He slammed the freezer shut, hiding the ice pack behind his back and waiting for her to look away again. She turned away, walking back across the lounge room to all the tools laid out across the carpet near the lounges. He watched her bend over and start picking them up, straining his ears to hear what the other Earthling was telling her.

She gasped again, and Vegeta didn’t look up this time. “No way,” she said, shooting up.

He tried several times, but he couldn’t wrap the ice pack up as neatly as she did; his clumsy hands just weren’t made for that sort of thing.

“No, no, no, Krillin, it’s fine, that’s great news! It’s—! This changes everything!” Bulma exclaimed, grinning broadly. She pumped the air, jumping on the spot, hair flying. “Yes! This is the best news I’ve heard in ages, thank you, thank you, thank you! Ok, ok, I have to go, say hi to Dende and Gohan for me, and take good care of them. Alright, ok, bye Krillin, no—I’m fine, I’m  _ fine _ !  _ Please _ stop asking me to say that. Ok, bye!”

Vegeta approached quietly, fingering the folded edge of the tea towel. Bulma threw the communicator down, turning to Vegeta wide eyed and beaming. She lifted her hands up, making to throw them around his neck again, but she pulled back, clapping her hands together excitedly instead.

“Here,” he grunted, holding out the ice pack, avoiding her gaze.

“What’s this for?” She asked. He gulped, nodding to her shoulder. The red marks had gone purple, and her smile wavered. “Oh. Thank you,” she said, taking it from him, and pressing it to her skin with a hiss. He made to walk away, but she grabbed his hand. “Wait, Vegeta, hold your horses, I’ve got great news!”

He didn’t know what horses were but he paused anyway. “What?”

“Krillin and Gohan were just with the Grand Elder, he told them about how the Namekian Dragon Balls work!” She explained, squeezing his hand. “Vegeta, they grant _ three _ wishes!” He opened his mouth to ask what that would mean for them but she dragged him back over to the kitchen, holding the ice pack to her shoulder with her free hand. “Ok, we have to plan this right, Frieza doesn’t know that the Namekian Dragon Balls can do this, we have the advantage! But you have to listen to me and not get angry and not destroy anymore walls because I only have so much wall putty!”

“I’m not going to get angry!” He barked, earning a sharp look.

“Oh my god, really? I never know how you will react with anything I do or tell you.” 

“I am not  _ that _ erratic! I can see when things have logical benefit to me!”

“That is blatantly not true and you know it,” she said. Ignoring her, Vegeta opened the fridge again, grabbing a whole leg of ham off the shelf and taking a bite out of it before she could stop him. “We could wish Piccolo and the others back!”

Vegeta chewed thoughtfully, connecting the dots. “Your Namekian?”

“Yes, Piccolo’s life is connected to Kami, the guy who created the Earth’s Dragon Balls, so if Piccolo was brought back, Kami would be too. Then there would be two sets of Dragon Balls! You could wish for immortality, and we could wish back my friends, and we could take on Frieza together!”

The words hung in the air, and Vegeta pondered them, mind reeling. He hated admitting it, but it was a good idea, though in reality, he wouldn’t need the others. Once he was immortal he could destroy Frieza and take back the title and power he rightfully deserved, but it didn’t hurt to have a contingency plan in place. He took another bite of the cold ham.

“I had wanted to use some of that for a sandwich later, you know,” Bulma sighed. He ripped off a section of ham, slapping it down on the counter in front of her. With a curled lip, Bulma picked up the cold ham, and threw it with a flick of her wrist. The ham slid off Vegeta’s face and onto the counter with a wet slap, leaving him staring. “Come on, we’ve got some planning to do.”

Bulma pushed him down onto the lounge, and told him to stay, and as much as he despised taking orders, he kept put. He watched her rummage around in some drawers, swearing and cursing as she tossed out useless items in what was proving to be a fruitless search until she stood up and announced; “Ah-ha! Found them!”

Pulling out a small box from the depths of some drawer, she threw the lid aside and selected more of those confounded capsules. He’d tried, previously, when she hadn’t been looking or been distracted, to try and understand them and puzzle them out but he couldn’t even begin to fathom the kind of ingenuity it took to create them. Bulma spun on her heel, and tossed a capsule onto the floor. The smoke cleared, revealing a whiteboard and stand.

Was that really  _ necessary? _

“Ok!” Bulma started, juggling a bunch of markers in hand. “Time to get visual!”

“Let’s not.”

“Well, you don’t have any markers so I can do whatever I want. Now…” she popped the cap off a marker, and wrote PICCOLO/KAMI in block letters. “I already went over this, but for the sake of clarity, if we wish back Piccolo, then that brings back Kami, and that brings back Earth’s set of Dragon Balls, right?”

“I vaguely recall you saying so multiple times only ten minutes ago,” Vegeta growled, half-heartedly.

“So then, we’ll have four wishes, potentially. If everything goes as planned.”

“Woman, the only wish that matters is the one concerning my immortality, that is the most important,” Vegeta stated, his arms folded tight across his chest, his tail flexing behind him.

“Yeah-yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m getting to that.” She wrote something else, stepping back.

  1. IMMORTALITY FOR BABY



“ _ Woman! _ ”

“Sorry! You were rude to me so now I get to call you names,” she hummed, and Vegeta’s grip on his arms tightened. The woman went on, talking, scribbling, hunched over the whiteboard, and Vegeta stared down at the carpet.

Three wishes.

He barely believed it himself, in fact, he mostly didn’t—but some pathetic part of him still dared to hope. He didn’t really care about gaining more wishes, in fact, more wishes might be more dangerous than just one. If they made a wish, and then Frieza arrived and was able to make his then…

Vegeta ground his teeth. The solution was simple then, make his wish, and then destroy the balls before anyone else could get theirs in. That would be the only way to make sure that Frieza couldn’t swoop in and use them as well to his advantage. Though, he thought, glancing up from the carpet briefly to watch Bulma’s hair bob as she wrote more and more on the whiteboard, still talking. It would enrage the woman.

“Why not just make two wishes and that be it?” He said, cutting Bulma off mid thought.

She looked up, blinking, the marker still hovering above a list of nonsense names. YAMCHA was underlined. “Why would we do that?” She asked.

“If the Dragon is as big and dramatic as you say; others will notice and try to take advantage of it,” he explained.

“I mean, I guess—”

“We’ll make my wish, and whatever wish you want, and then destroy them before any other cretin has time to do so,” Vegeta said with a huff.

“But then we wouldn't be able to do all the things we want,” Bulma began.

“All the things  _ you _ want, woman. The only thing I want is what is rightfully mine.”

“Oh, rightfully yours? If you hadn’t been listening in back on Earth you wouldn’t have even known about the Dragon Balls!” Bulma snapped, her hand flying to her hip, fixing him with a steely glare. “But you’ve made your point, I’ll concede.”

He didn’t bother to hide the smugness in his sneer. 

“Look, anyway, the point is, we can at least get two wishes in. I think that would be enough anyway, and if nobody shows up, then…” she turned back to the whiteboard, pushing the end of the marker to her mouth thoughtfully. “We can go from there.”

“I don’t know why we needed a twenty minute discussion on this,” Vegeta said.

He ducked and narrowly missed a marker hurled in his direction.

“Shut  _ up _ ! Ugh! I’m trying to help you, you stuck up little jerk!”

“I’m trying to keep us alive, you shrieking fool!”

She threw another marker and this time it bounced off his shoulder. He got to his feet, glaring, and when she made to throw another one at him, he caught her wrist. She snorted, twisting in his grip, trying to pry his fingers free but failing. “Fuck you! God damn!” She shrilled. “I’m so over having to put up with you! If you bruise me again—!”

“I’m not going to harm you, woman! We’ve been over this,” he said, and this time, he meant it. His grip loosened enough for her to pull her wrist free; but she went to kick him instead, so he caught her ankle, very carefully this time.

“You prick! You big shitty, little  _ bastard _ !” She moaned, hopping in place. “Remember when I saved your stupid fucking ass? Twice?”

“I didn’t need to be ‘saved’! I would have been just fine!” He said, lifting her leg a little higher to stop her from wriggling free, but not high enough to make her lose balance.

“Put me down right now this is no way to treat a lady!” He let go, and she stumbled forward awkwardly, before rounding on him. “I’ve had it up to here with you!” She lifted her hand up above her head, and jumped.

“The feeling is mutual!” He growled, but his retort died in his throat. Vegeta spun on the spot, his neck prickling, his skin pimpling under his armour. Something was coming. The woman continued her yelling, hurling whatever insult she could think of in his direction but he could barely hear it.

Something burned at the edge of his awareness, something too hot to look at directly, something fast approaching. He pushed Bulma aside, kicking open the door and darting out of the cave, searching the sky.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She roared, following him out. “Do you just not know what doors  _ are _ ?”

He stared into the sky, mouth dry, eyes darting between the clouds, looking for something,  _ anything _ , a source that wasn’t what he thought it was. The feeling grew stronger, like the rolling heat and smoke before a fiery blast.

“No, not them!” Sweat formed around his hairline, and his heart picked up speed. There was more than one, he knew that, and he counted them under his breath. “Damn it all! Frieza’s called for the Ginyu force!”

“The who? What are you yelling about?” Bulma started, but he cut her off, grabbing a fistful of her shirt.

“We have to make my wish right now before they get here or we’re all dead!” He snarled.

“Woah, woah, calm down, you’re going to stretch out another one of my shirts if you keep this up! What’s going on? What’s the ‘Ginyu Force’?”

“Listen to me! These are no petty henchmen Frieza has called; in a few moments five of his best men will arrive with new scouters and they’ll find us and kill us all!” Vegeta blurted, his words all running together. “We only have one chance! We have to use them now!”

“Ok, then where are they?”

Vegeta froze. “I-I left them in a gully!”

They stared at each other, and Bulma shook her head in disbelief. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Just forget it!” He roared, making to kick off but she grabbed his arm.

“Oh, no! Not this again! I’m going with you!”

“Woman, why the hell do you want to die so badly?” He howled, his hands trembling.

Bulma ignored him, latching onto him around the neck, choking him. “You’re fucking taking me with you and that’s final! Let’s go before they get here!”

He itched to rip her off him, to throw her aside but there was no point. With a snarl, he grabbed her around the middle, and she choked on her scream, before he kicked off hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading so far! I can't believe the response we've had, it's just amazing. Thanks so much for reading and commenting, I'm sorry we can't answer all of them! We just don't know what to say half the time; especially me, i'm really not used to people saying they enjoy my work so much ahaha
> 
> Thank you again for all your kind words!
> 
> -Ronnie


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally. FINALLY. We get a Dragon.

Blackness blocked all senses, and with every breath, tar filled Vegeta’s lungs and chest. The world drifted in and out of existence, light and shadow swimming together and becoming slowly grey. On the edge of hearing, the edge of waking up, there were screams, and the dull boom of ki blasts that shook the earth. Cool hands clasped either side of his face. He felt his body sinking away, the ground preparing to swallow him whole, but the hands held him firm. Someone spoke, their voice muffled with distance and the dark.

Someone opened his mouth, and forced something down his throat. He tried to move his head away, but his skull was made of lead. Everything stilled, and fell quiet. His chest cleared, and he coughed, tasting blood. Someone hauled him off the ground slightly and the coughing eased.

“Vegeta? Vegeta, can you hear me?” A familiar voice trembled. He leaned into something warm, and it was an effort not fade away. “Vegeta, wake  _ up! _ ”

He coughed again, eyes flying open, and Bulma filled his view. Her hair hung down in front of her eyes, her skin slick with sweat and marred with dirt, but glowing. She laughed, and her voice was sweet symphony, and drew out the first word that came to mind, “Bulma?”

She pulled him into a hug so fast it winded him. He reached up, hands still weak, and found her back.

This is a dream.

At that moment, there was only her, only her hair against his cheek, only her fingers digging into his shoulders, and her own desperate strength, until she leaned back and hit him hard in the chest. “You fucking asshole! What’s wrong with you?”

Vegeta spluttered. She hugged him again, face in his neck, thumping her fists on the back of his armour and making him cough again. “I’m fine!” He wheezed.

“You jerk! You promised me you would try to stay alive!” She said, voice shaking, and he realised she was crying.

“I  _ am _ alive!” He croaked incredulously, his hand gravitating to the back of her head, his fingers threading between her hair.

“Only because of me, you idiot!” She shouted, trying to hug him tighter.

She knelt beside him, holding him up off the ground. Vegeta let a hand slip from her back, propping himself up. The world came back in bits and pieces, first it was just the area around him, the bloodied grass and red clay, and then Bulma, clutching to him like he was in danger of falling apart. Above her, three suns burned high in that awful green sky, streaked with clouds, the air smelling of rain and burned earth.

This isn’t a dream.

Tilting his head, Vegeta peered over the top of Bulma’s head, eyes slowly coming to focus. He saw trails of smoke, deep craters, and figures in the haze. He pushed himself up with a groan, and Bulma pulled him up into a proper seated position, wiping something from his jaw which he later realised was blood. His mind tried to piece together what happened, but it all came back tangled and confused. Bulma leaned across him, her arms still holding him upright, her face etched with worry.

“What happened?” He breathed.

“You got your stupid self beaten to a bloody pulp to ‘stall for time’ or whatever crap you told everyone,” Bulma explained. “Honestly, I can’t believe you! You weren’t stalling, you were just showing off! If Goku hadn’t arrived with senzu beans you’d probably be—!”

“Kakarot?” Vegeta spat, sitting straight. At some point his tail had curled around Bulma’s waist, and he ripped it free. His head snapped up, and he saw the last people he wanted to see. Jeice and Burter, two of Ginyu’s largely improvised dance posse, their fists raised and their knees bent, with a tall, muscular figure clad in orange standing between them. His heart skipped a beat, and he made to jump to his feet, but his legs refused to move.

“Hold on, just sit for a bit longer! You were really knocked around!”

“W-woman, I’m fine!” Vegeta hissed between his teeth, willing to push her off, but he couldn’t. She tightened her hold on him, glaring.

“Don’t give me that shit,” she warned, before her face softened again. Her eyes were glassy, and Vegeta’s heart sank. He let himself sit back on the ground, and let her pull him into a crushing hug, her nose in the crook of her neck. He sighed, and allowed his cheek to press into her hair, eyes closed. 

“Bulma what are you doing?” Someone shouted, and Vegeta’s eyes snapped open. “That was the last senzu bean!”

The reality flooded back and Krillin and Gohan stood a little way away, dirty and bloody but fine, both of them staring wide eyed at Bulma draped around his neck. Vegeta startled, not wanting to push Bulma off roughly but not wanting to spend anymore time being ogled, and slipped his head out from her arms and got to his feet. His head swam again, and Bulma’s white hot hand caught his, and he snatched it away, heaving.

“ _ Nice going, Krillin! _ ” Bulma snarled, hands on her hips. “What did you think I was going to do, just let him die? Honestly, you’re all as bad as each other!”

It took Vegeta a moment to realise she was talking about him. Standing straight, he eyed his torn suit and what remained of his armour, he could see blood, still hot and wet but no wounds, not even any bruising or scrapes. He tucked his tail around his waist, rolling his head and stretching. He felt stiff, and maybe a little light headed, but other than that, he felt like he could tear a mountain in two, and when his gaze settled on Kakarot’s distant figure, slamming Burter to the ground like a doll in a cloud of dirt, he was tempted to go through with it.

Kakarot moved faster than on Earth, his hits heavier, and his stance wider. Something had changed, and it flared every time his fist connected with Burter’s stocky form. The last Vegeta had seen that plebeian he’d been at the bottom of a smouldering ditch of Vegeta’s making and—he was still Saiyan.

His thoughts lurched. Kakarot, despite everything, was still Saiyan and if he’d almost died on Earth and been brought back then that meant…

“Hey, woah, calm down there, buddy,” Bulma warned, and Vegeta let the ki enveloping fists drain.  _ No use being upset, there’s no use being angry _ ; once he’d gained eternal life then Kakarot would no longer be an issue. “Goku’s got this,” she explained, and the ki flashed again.

“W-why the hell did you heal me?” He growled, his joints shaking with new found energy and power. The well of ki grew deeper still, and opened up into a bottomless black hole of potential. This was beyond anything he could have dreamed of as a child.

“So I could fucking murder you myself!” Bulma snapped, slapping him across the back of the head. He flinched, but more from the shock than from any pain. “Leaving me alone to worry like that! It’s just plain selfish! If you think death is an easy way to get rid of me you’ve got another thing coming, mister! Hey—! Are you even  _ listening _ to me?”

Bulma’s voice drained away, and along with the rush of the wind, and the ground beneath him. His mind zeroed in on Kakarot’s energy like moth to a flame, but this felt like a wildfire, with the ability to destroy everything in its path searing with every punch and kick only to be swallowed under a veil of calm. Kakarot was hiding his ki, and what little of it escaped between his fingers that Vegeta could discern—

He couldn’t have.  _ That would be impossible!  _ He was a low class warrior, jettisoned into space as an infant to wreak havoc on a some unsuspecting planet because he wasn’t strong enough fight other Saiyan whelps.

Bulma’s hand found his arm again, but he barely registered her touch.

This was all folklore, stories told around a dying campfire by warriors before a fight; he’d never actually  _ believed  _ that garbage, and even if it were true then the only rightful heir to that throne was a member of the warrior elite. Rooted to the spot, he stared in open mouthed horror at Kakarot, an affront to everything that his race stood for, a ghastly final stab in the back.  _ He couldn’t be. _

“He’s already won,” Vegeta heard himself say, his voice distant. He watched Kakarot send both those idiots of Ginyu’s flying in opposite directions with nothing more than a simple wave of ki. At the push, Vegeta had felt Goku’s energy spike, rising to dizzying heights before vanishing again to nothing. His brain started to claw back to reality. “Just how much more powerful is he?”

“This is starting to piss me off!” Screamed Burter, his voice echoing. Vegeta didn’t even have to strain his ears to hear Burter’s barking into the scouter. “Jeice, fire your Crusher Ball at him, I’m getting sick of this!”

“Vegeta,” Bulma’s voice cut in. Vegeta turned his head, but refused to wrench his eyes from the unfolding battle, even blinking would— “too tight.”

He glanced away to chastise her and found his tail had curled tightly around her arm, her wrist and hand going thick and purple.  _ The blasted thing had a mind of its own! _ He grabbed his tail and yanked it off her like a vine, clenching his jaw against the pain, and whipped around to the fight again as Jeice hurled a tightly packed ball of ki in Kakarot’s direction.

This was his moment of truth.  _ Show me what you’ve become _ .

Kakarot twitched, and the seething ball of ki soared off and narrowly missed Burter. Bulma gasped beside him, and he realised that his jaw was hanging loose. Kakarot moved again, blinking, and then reappearing as Jeice shrieked, “Burter, behind you!”

An argument started, and Vegeta heard every word, but his brain didn’t seem to understand any of it. He was shaking, his fingers biting into his palms, but he could feel himself drifting away, a ghost trapped by his own body.

“What the hell are you?” Burter snarled.

“I’m Goku,” Kakarot said with a smile. The sound of his voice slammed Vegeta’s consciousness back into his body with a cough. “A Saiyan raised on Earth, so I’ve been told!”

“Don’t mess with me! As if a Saiyan could have that much speed!” Burter exclaimed, an audible tremble to his words.

“I don’t know,” Kakarot shrugged, with that stupid too eager attitude of his. “I guess it’s probably from all the intense training I’ve been doing!”

_ Intense training _ .

It slapped Vegeta in the face and shattered all his teeth. That was it,  _ that _ was his secret?  _ Intense training _ ? The potential of a God at his fingertips, and he’d achieved it through training alone? Vegeta’s eyes flitted to his balled up fists, and he released them carefully. Perhaps, then, there could still be a chance for him to ascend to legendary status himself? After all, if training was all that was needed then he could run rings around Kakarot and his sloppy techniques.

Everything happened in a blur, Jeice and Burter were on Kakarot, striking out but never hitting him, the movements so quick they all blended together until Kakarot broke free of the fray, and struck Burter hard in the back, sending him plummeting to the ground. Kakarot vanished, and reappeared on the earth, and Burter’s body landed hard on Kakarot’s outstretched fist.

He tossed Burter to the ground, and it was over.

“Do you get it now? There’s no point in us fighting! Take your friends and leave this planet and never come back!” Kakarot called and for once in his life there was some bite to his tone.

The strings holding Vegeta’s body upright all snapped, and blinking through the blood in his eye, a scream rose in his throat. “ _ What are you waiting for you fool? Finish them off! _ ”

“Oh, Jesus,  _ volume! _ ” Bulma scalded, hands flying to her ears.

“It’s ok! These guys are already beaten!” Kakarot waved with a dough faced grin. “There’s no need to kill ‘em for no reason!”

There was a roar, and sudden flash, and Jeice vanished across the mountains, speeding towards a distant rocky horizon. Vegeta’s blood boiled. The other fools wandered over to Kakarot, wary and awestruck, and Vegeta heard Krillin ask, “hey, are you sure you’re really Goku?”

“What? Of course I am Krillin! Don’t be silly!” Kakarot laughed, running a hand through his hair.

Bulma moved beside Vegeta, and he became aware of her presence again, filling his space, her heat radiating across his skin from her closeness. She stepped back, frowning. “Hey, hey, careful,” she started to say, but Vegeta’s heart pounded too hard for him to hear. “What are you doing—?”

Vegeta crossed the plane in an instant, and with a horrid crunch, his knee snapped Burter’s fat blue neck.

“Hey, stop!” Kakarot began. “Vegeta, that’s enough—!”

But it fell on deaf ears as Vegeta wheeled around, his hand aimed squarely at Recoome’s slumped form, and a blast swelled in his palm and shot across the grass in a blinding flash. The explosion rocked the earth, and a plume of ash and dust blocked the suns, until silence returned, and the dust settled.

“What’s your deal? You know how to receive mercy but you can’t give it?” Kakarot yelled behind him. Vegeta spun around, and the others all jumped, but Kakarot stayed still. His crestfallen expression turned angry, and he squared his shoulders. “I was hoping you might have changed!”

Vegeta spat onto the ground, “they got exactly what they deserved!” A thousand Saiyan ancestors cried out in Vegeta’s blood at the very idea of him even entertaining the idea of justifying his actions to someone like Kakarot. “Would they have taken mercy on your son and your friend? If you arrived ten minutes later they’d be gone right now! What were you thinking? With your newfound strength you could have easily dealt with all of them without breaking a sweat!”

“Aw, come on! We gave you a Senzu bean, Vegeta!” Kakarot whined.

_ Childish, childish, childish! _

Krillin and Gohan both paled, and Vegeta stepped forward, the indigent rage coming off him in waves. “You’re too soft to be a Saiyan! I don’t know why I was stupid enough to think for even a moment that you’d become Super Saiyan! That freak you let go could cost us our lives!”

“It was just one guy!” Kakarot moaned, pulling at his hair. He’s still pathetic, even with all this power! It’s infuriating. “It’s not gonna be that bad, just look how easy we beat ‘em!”

Vegeta lifted a shaking hand, and pointed at Kakarot’s face, willing it to pierce his skull and brain him right there. “You might be proud of that power of yours, but you’ll never defeat someone like Frieza with that attitude, you have absolutely no idea how terrifying and ruthless he can be.”

Kakarot settled back on his heel, his stance relaxing. “I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging, but I think I’ve gotten pretty strong, and you’re still telling me there’s no way I can beat this freezer dude—?”

“Frieza,” Gohan corrected.

“—This  _ Frieza _ guy or whatever?”

Krillin cleared his throat, stepping between them all as mediator, his hands wide in an invisible embrace. “You have to be exaggerating, even just a little right? I mean, we all saw how strong Goku is! Those guys were nothing compared to him! How could anyone beat him now?” Krillin gestured to Kakarot to emphasise this, and Kakarot’s chest puffed out.

_ Idiots! _

Vegeta resisted the urge to just throw back his head and scream until his voice gave out. He gathered himself, and stuck in, “at any rate, Frieza’s obtained all seven Dragon Balls, and has probably already acquired eternal life by now. Any thoughts of defeating him are mere fantasy at this point! Damn it, I shouldn’t have let the woman distract me so much—!”

“Woman? Oh, do you have a friend?” Kakarot beamed, and Vegeta’s words became his noose.

“I said no such thing!” He hissed, voice tight.

“Is she a  _ lady friend  _ of yours, Vegeta? What’s her name? I knew you could be a nice guy deep down and could have some friends if you really tried,” Kakarot started before Krillin cleared his throat.

“Uh, I don’t think Frieza has wished for anything yet,” he said, slowly, beads of sweat trailing down his brow.

Kakarot blinked, and turned away. “Huh? Why?”

“I mean, if these are anything like the Earth’s Dragon Balls, then the sky would have gone dark and we would have seen Shenron—you know how big that guy is.”

“ _ Ugh! Did you all just forget about me? _ ” A shrill voice broke across the plane. The woman stormed over to meet them, her cheeks flushed with effort, and her fringe plastered to her face with sweat. “Just typical! I’ve been calling for ages and none of you hear me until I’m right on top of you!”

“Sorry, Bulma,” Gohan offered, red faced.

Bulma pushed her fringe out of her eyes, and waved her hand. “That’s ok I forgive you Gohan, you’re only a little boy.”

“Sorry about that, Bulma,” Krillin added.

“ _ Fuck off and die. _ ”

“Oh, Bulma! You’re here too? I’m so glad! You know more about the Dragon Balls then any of us,” Kakarot exclaimed, rushing forward to meet her. He made to hug her, but she pushed him away with a scowl that she’d given Vegeta so many times.

“Back off, I’m mad at you too, and the stupid little boys club you’ve got going on here! And yes, Dragon Ball knowledge is one of the many things I pride myself on,” she said airly, standing up straight and walking past all of them to get in Vegeta’s face. He tensed, meeting her fierceness head on but she she wrestled the power out from him with just a look. “And  _ you!  _ I fed you that damn magic bean and I didn’t hear a word of thanks!”

“You two know each other?” Kakarot asked.

There was a pause, and everyone held their breath. Bulma turned on the heel of her boot, searching Kakarot’s face, her eyes dagger sharp. “ _ Yes? _ ”

Kakarot darted forward again, looking between the two of them with an open smile. “Oh, neat! Do you know his lady friend?”

Krillin coughed, and Bulma choked, as she asked, “ _ excuse _ me?”

Vegeta willed himself not to end the conversation right here, to blast a hole in this planet’s surface and take them all with him.

Gohan buried his face in his hands, a frustrated groan escaping between his fingers: “Dad, Vegeta took Bulma hostage! That’s why we came in the first place!”

“Alright, moving on,” Bulma growled, firmly. “Yes, Frieza has the Dragon Balls. No, he hasn’t summoned the eternal dragon yet.”

“Dragon? You mean to tell me something comes  _ out _ of the Dragon Balls?” Vegeta began before he was cut off with a nasty glare.

“Yes, a big dragon comes out and grants everyone’s wishes and don’t you dare laugh. Carrying on, no, I don’t think Frieza knows how to summon Shenron because I don’t think he realises that he’s meant to summon it, and I doubt any Namekian would have told him, even if he tortured them.”

“The woman makes a valid point,” Vegeta blurted, not entirely understanding everything she said.

“I agree with Vegeta for once,” Krillin peeped.

Kakarot beamed. “That’s it! He doesn’t know what the words are! He must just think gathering them all together will grant his wish! We’ve still got a chance!”

“Words?” Vegeta felt the conversation slipping away from him.

Bulma waved his questions aside with a delicate flick of the wrist. “Yeah, yeah, Goku, we were all thinking it.”

Kakarot clapped his hands together and everyone jumped. “Vegeta, you know a lot about these guys, any ideas where they would hide the Dragon Balls?”

“Oh, not rushing off to defeat Frieza single handedly, are you?” Vegeta asked, forcing out each word with difficulty. He needed to regain the upper hand, even if it was just cheaply. The woman elbowed him, but he didn’t flinch.

“Well… I’d like to if I can,” Kakarot explained, ignoring any and all spite. “But first I want to wish back our Friends that you killed on Earth—plus, King Kai told me to avoid Frieza at all costs!”

“Even if you get your worthless wish, Frieza will simply blow them all away along with your Earth, and then what will it matter?”

“Alright,  _ break it up! _ If we get the Dragon Balls back then everyone can have their wish if we play our cards right, but first we have to get them, and figure out how to summon the dragon ourselves,” Bulma announced. “I’ve already thought this over. I made a mindmap and everything.”

Kakarot pumped the air. “Yes! Man, Bulma, I knew you would have, you’re so smart!”

“She’s an absolute genius compared to all of the idiots on your planet and this one!” Vegeta said, folding his arms across his chest.

“Careful now, tough guy, that was almost a compliment,” the woman teased, and all the blood rushed to Vegeta’s face. She caught him in that sidelong smile and he was almost glad when he felt two kis flare in the distance. “There are two power levels headed this way, seems like Jeice, the one you let escape, is heading back here with the Captain himself!” Vegeta sneered, turning back to the others and fixing his gaze on Kakarot’s stupid doltish face. “I don’t care how strong you’ve become, you’re going to have your hands full with this one, Kakarot!”

“I hate saying this and I’m never going to live this down, but, h-he’s right, Goku, this guy’s trouble,” Krillin confirmed, squinting across the ocean. The four of them all eyed the horizon warily, and Bulma bobbed her head up and down.

“Hang on, hang on,” Vegeta growled, his arms slipping from his chest.  “Where did Frieza run off to? He should be at his ship, that’s where Captain Ginyu and Jeice are coming from.”

Kakarot uttered a thoughtful hum, and pointed in the opposite direction, towards the rocky plateaus and bluffs. “I can sense a strong ki way out in that direction,” he explained, frowning. “Feels strong enough to be that Frieza guy I’m guessing.”

The five of them stood in silence. “What’s that way then?” Bulma asked, finally.

Gohan paled, and death’s hand seemed to wrap about his throat. “ _ That’s where the Grand Elder is! _ ”

“You’ve never explained who that is or why they’re so important,” Vegeta growled.

“Frieza must not have been able to get his wish! He must be searching for Namekians to tell him what to do next!” Krillin cried.

Kakarot only seemed to be half listening, running his hand over his mouth in some attempt at thoughtfulness. “Grand Elder? Is he the one who made the Dragon Balls here..?”

Gohan pulled and his hair, eyes bulging. “Oh, no! No, no, no! Once he finds out how to grant his wish—he’ll kill the Grand Elder like the others!  _ He doesn’t realise that if the Elder dies the Dragon Balls won’t work anymore! _ ”

“Everyone stop screaming and  _ look! _ ” The woman shrieked, and the planet itself stood still. She thrust a finger skywards, and a shudder rippled up and down Vegeta’s spine. Two kis approached, hurtling down through the sky and wreathed in light, and Vegeta recognised the leader instantly.

He grabbed the woman’s shoulder, pulling her aside. “I know you’re incapable of following orders but stay out of the way if you know what’s good for you, understood?”

“I would if you’d stop grabbing me!” The woman hissed.

There was a flash, and the sound boots crunching in the dirt. Across the plane, standing tall as a mountain against the green sky was the impervious Captain Ginyu. Vegeta’s stomach churned, mouth dry.

“You went and made real fools out of us earlier, didn’t you?” Jeice called across the grass, his hair blowing out behind him in a long train. “Well, now the cap’n himself is here and he’s got some choice words for you punks!”

A breeze pushed at their back, spilling down the hills towards the sea, and beside him, Krillin spoke, voice clipped. “T-this is it! What do you think, Goku? Could you beat this guy too?”

“Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out!” Kakarot said. He jerked his head to the side, adding, “I’ll keep him busy. You should all go get the radar and start looking for where ever Frieza stashed the Dragon Balls.”

“Right!” Krillin whipped around to Bulma, holding out his hand. “Bulma! The radar!”

Vegeta ground his teeth the moment the words left Krillin’s mouth. The woman would skin him for that.

“Come again?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, please? Bulma, come on, they’re here we have to go now!” Krillin pleaded.

The woman settled back onto her heels, and Vegeta resisted the urge to say something. Frieza himself could show up and blow the planet out from underneath them and it wouldn’t have been enough to spare anyone from the woman’s vicious strikes. “And what were you planning to do with me, exactly? Just fucking leave me here again, huh? The only person who knows how to use the radar?”

“Bulma, I don’t mean to be rude, but can it wait?” Kakarot asked with a sheepish look, and Vegeta stared, dumbfounded. Had he no idea what retribution that remark would lead to? Kakarot nodded to him this time, saying, “Vegeta, you’ve recovered from death a couple times now, I’m guessing this guy wouldn’t be a problem for you now, huh?”

A flare in energy broke the spell and Vegeta’s head snapped up to Captain Ginyu. He’d only seen the Captain a scarce few times, but they had been nightmarish enough to will Vegeta forward. 

Bulma bristled. “Oh, now the guy who kept us waiting back on Earth is going to preach to me about being timely, huh— _ hey! _ ” He slung the woman over his shoulder, and she dug her knees into his stomach, trying to wriggle out of his grip. She opened her mouth to start her tirade but he kicked off in a cloud of dust. The ground fell away, the wind roaring in his ears and the woman screaming bloody murder. Trailing behind him he felt Gohan and Krillin struggling to keep up, and Kakarot and Captain Ginyu’s kis disappearing with distance. Bulma stopped trying to strangle him, and instead grasped the corners of his armour tightly, and bowing her head against the wind.

They crossed the water, and Vegeta slowed, enough for Bulma to loosen her grip and push her hair back out of her face. Krillin and Gohan appeared beside them, Krillin panting; “Geez, Vegeta, you’re fast—I can barely keep up!”

“Then don’t,” Vegeta growled. He lowered the woman from his shoulder a little, and she glared at him. “Radar.”

She narrowed her eyes, and he waited for an insult to lash his cheek but she reached back awkwardly for her pack. “Fine, you dumb jerks,” she grumbled, slipping out the radar and turning it on. She turned her head, and Vegeta begrudgingly slowed again enough to allow her to point towards some mountains by the edge of the water. “The Dragon Balls are over there somewhere.”

“That’s where the ship is,” Gohan confirmed.

“Then we best hurry before Frieza finishes playing and decides to head back,” Vegeta shoved the radar back into the woman’s pocket for her, before putting his hand around her slim waist, and speeding off again.

The ship came into view, tattered and broken, standing between the hills like some predatory bug. Around the perimeter, Frieza force soldiers scouted the area. Vegeta counted quickly, before adjusting his grip on Bulma. She snapped a few curses, before he lifted up his hand, and the ki swelled in his palm like a new formed star.

The barrage shook the earth, and he squinted against the glare. The smoke cleared, and a doze smouldering craters yawned beneath them. The last ki went out with a blink, and Vegeta lowered his still smoking hand.

The others stared up at him, pale faced, and Vegeta snorted. “Aren’t you in a rush?” He jeered. Krillin and the boy exchanged a look, and shot to the ground. Vegeta landed harder than he intended, and the woman wheezed. Sticking his arm out automatically, he waited obediently for her to snatch up his arm for balance. Knees wobbling, she leaned against him, and pulled out the radar again.

Krillin wrung his hands beside her, pleading, “ _ hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry! _ ”

“They should be right here,” Bulma explained.

“He’s buried them, look, the ground is all broken up here!” Gohan shot over to a patch of moist clay piled together at the base of the ship. Krillin dropped to his knees, raking through the grass and clay with his hands, Gohan following suit. Vegeta spun on the spot, and tried to pick out any pulse of distant energy.

Bulma shifted beside him, and coughed. He tilted his head in her direction, but didn’t meet her gaze. “He could have used your help,” she said, firmly.

“He and Ginyu are evenly matched,” Vegeta replied. When she didn’t respond, he ground his teeth. “With any luck they’ll kill each other.”

She fixed him with a sour look. “You better hope Goku lives for your sake.”

“Found them!” 

Vegeta spun on the spot, and Gohan lifted up a Dragon Ball, brushing off the dirt with his hand. “Those Ginyu idiots call  _ that  _ a hiding place?”

“There’s more, they’re all here; all seven!” Gohan exclaimed with a smile. His laugh made Vegeta’s blood boil; it was too similar to Kakarot’s own.

“Good job, maggot, now hurry up and summon this Shenron!” Vegeta snarled, stalking forward. Gohan’s smile vanished with a gulp, and he placed the last Dragon Ball aside. Bulma circled around behind, looking over them.

“Alright, Krillin, would you do the honors?” Bulma asked, standing back. The breeze blew off the plains, her hair parting like a veil and Vegeta stiffened.

Vegeta’s hands balled into tight fists, and every muscle tensed. This was it, this was his chance. This was the last chance for immortality. Krillin sniffed, and lifted up his arms. “We’ve collected all seven, I summon you, Shenron! Come forth and grant our wish!”

Seconds passed, and Krillin’s laugh faded. Gohan’s smile flickered, and he blinked. Somewhere distantly, some frogs croaked, and a few strange insects buzzed, but the sky remained clear, and evergreen. 

“Is that it?” Vegeta asked. “Where is this dragon you all keep blathering about?”

Krillin lowered his arms, shaking. “Wh-what is he waiting for? This is the part where he’s supposed to come  _ wooshing _ out of it, right?”

Bulma’s voice came out in a pitiful whine, and she pulled at her fringe. “I can’t believe I’m going to die on this planet surrounded by you dorks!”

“Maybe the words are different for these ones? Try something else” Gohan suggested.

“Shenron, come forth and grant our—!”

“Almighty Dragon, we summon you—!”

“ _ Oh, you can’t be serious! You morons don’t even know what you’re doing!” _

Bulma uncovered her ears. “Vegeta, they’re trying their best! I don’t see you doing anything to help out!” She snapped, but it was half hearted, and tired. The three of them argued, or rather, Vegeta seethed, spitting and snarling while Krillin and Gohan held up their hands in meek surrender.

Vegeta’s tail stood up straight in the air, his entire frame shaking, still shouting when Bulma marched over, and smacked him across the back of the head. He bit back his last insult, and snapped to attention.

“That’s enough,” she said, firmly. “There’s gotta be another way to summon it, we just have to figure out what that is.”

“Bulma, we don’t have time for that, Frieza could kill the Grand Elder or return at any moment!” Krillin buried his face in his hands.

“Never mind him,” Vegeta barked, eyes to the sky. He felt them, the energy crawling under his skin. Bulma followed his gaze, and two stars glowed between the clouds. “There are two other energies fast approaching.”

“Two of them?” Gohan stammered. “B-but if there’s two, they must have defeated my dad!”

“Gohan, take cover, come on!” Krillin wailed, dragging the boy back through the grass. 

Vegeta waited, his tail swaying back and forth, ready for a fight. After too long, he turned, and pushed Bulma behind the rock and ducked down beside her. The silence that followed gnawed at the back of Vegeta’s skull. The waiting was always the worst part.

His tail brushed against something soft, and he looked around, eyes narrowed. The woman crouched beside him, her back slammed up hard against the rock, jaw clenched. She felt his gaze on her, and looked up, and they locked eyes for a moment. The roar of two fast approaching kis grew louder, reverberating off the ship and hills and ringing in Vegeta’s ears before suddenly cutting out.

“I don’t believe it,” Krillin breathed. “It’s Goku.”

Vegeta frowned.

“I don’t believe this, who dug these up? How could anyone have known they were here?” Jeice was saying, rushing forward to the Dragon Balls. His hand flew to his scouter, and Vegeta heard the scouter scanning. Beside Jeice, a tall, familiar figure regarded the scene with unfamiliar shrewdness.

“Hey, Goku! Boy, am I glad to see you!” Krillin blurted, stepping out from behind the stone. “We thought you were that Ginyu guy, we even hid!”

Bulma tried to grab Krillin’s gi to pull him back, but he stepped out of her reach, walking around to meet Goku, who tilted his head thoughtfully. “Sure, whatever you say,” he said. “Did you dig these up? How did you find them?”

“Uh, with the radar of course, and yeah, duh—!”

“ _ Krillin! _ ” Bulma hissed, leaning out from behind the stone. Goku stood over Krillin, head cocked, a scouter fixed to his ear and beeping quietly. Vegeta’s fists tightened, his ki flaring, and he realised what happened as Gohan stumbled out from behind the rock, yelling.

“ Krillin, that’s not my dad! ”

 

***

 

The dust settled, and Jeice’s ashes blew away in the wind. Bulma had spent the majority of the fight desperately rolling Dragon Balls out of the way of blasts and bodies hurled into the earth, until, quite suddenly, it all stopped. An ugly, teal frog croaked in the grass, somehow managing to look utterly terrified, and Captain Ginyu’s hulking form hopped away through the creek on all fours. Vegeta sounded like he was having the time of his life, almost doubled over cackling.

“Well would you look at that!” He announced, stalking after the frog as it backed up against a rock nervously. “I have to say Ginyu, I think this new body suits you perfectly!”

Behind him, Gohan and Krillin pried Goku’s broken, bloody form from the clay. Bulma vaulted one of the Dragon Balls, and rushed to Goku’s side. He grinned up at her, one eye swollen shut. “ _ Heeey _ Bulma,” he managed.

“Hey, doofus,” she replied, gently.

“Alright, let’s get you up,” Krillin said, grabbing Goku under the arm and hauling him up.

Off to the side, Vegeta continued harassing the frog, like a cat with a new toy. “Looks to me like it’s frog stomping time!” He jeered, bringing his foot down and cutting off the frog’s path. 

Goku laughed under his breath, blinking away blood. “Seems like Vegeta finally has someone his own size to pick on,” he grinned.

Bulma mentally count down to the resulting tantrum, but to his credit, Vegeta just scoffed over his shoulder. “ _ Whatever _ . How about I give him a helping hand and just put him out of his humiliating misery?” He called, his tail thrashing. “Though, I wouldn’t want to get toad guts on my boots.”

Krillin heaved Goku onto his shoulder, Gohan trying his best to take the otherside. “He’s enjoying himself,” Krillin grumbled. “I don’t think he even realises that Goku saved his life, yet again.”

“He’s ok,” Goku replied, smiling weakly. “Don’t worry about it!”

“Oh no, Goku’s delirious,” Krillin said. “W-we gotta get you someplace safe.”

“Vegeta!”

Vegeta looked up, frowning. Bulma waved him over, calling, “can you give us a hand?”

His glare deepened, and she thought he might just fly away there and then, but instead, he kicked the frog and it soared off through the air with a squeal. He turned back with a wicked sneer, and sauntered over.

“You know, destroying you three weaklings right now would solve most of my problems,” he said, lip curled.

“You wouldn’t!” Gohan piped up.

Krillin struggled under Goku’s weight, glaring up at Vegeta. “That’d be low, even for you!”

“Oh, shut up!” Bulma snapped. “Freaking out just eggs him on, haven’t you learned anything?”

Krillin went to say something, but Goku coughed, squinting up at them. “She’s right! He’s not going to hurt us, not if he wants his wish from the Dragon Balls.”

“What are we meant to do then?” Krillin asked.

Another cough tore through Goku’s frame, and he spat onto the ground with a groan. “Trust him.”

Vegeta gave a single, sharp laugh. “Maybe you’re not as dumb as I thought you were, Kakarot. You’re right! You numbskulls aren’t my enemy, Frieza is; later might be a different story—”

“Would you all stop fucking talking for a moment!” Bulma shouted, stepping between them all, hands on hips. “Frieza could be here any minute and Goku’s out of commission, we have to come up with a plan—!”

“Calm down, woman! We’ve got Frieza’s ship to ourselves and you’re lucky that he’s got an infirmary with Isolation Chambers onboard.”

“With a what aboard?” Krillin asked.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Bulma went to help the others carry Goku, but between Gohan and Krillin, there wasn’t much room. She pumped the air with a fist instead, licking her lips. “Go team! Am I right? Ha ha!”

“Woman, just come here and we’ll get this free range idiot back up in no time,” Vegeta grumbled, making to grab her about the waist.

Bulma twisted away from his hands. “Watch it! I’ve been manhandled enough for one day!”

“There’s only one way in and it’s through the hole I blasted in the bow window!” He blustered, fighting back red cheeks with unrivalled ferocity. “I’d love to just leave him here to wither away normally but Kakarot’s Super Saiyan powers might come in handy in a battle with Frieza!”

Goku lifted his head, dazed. “You two are so  _ funny _ together,” he mumbled, grinning.

“ _ Ugh, fine! _ ” She snatched up Vegeta’s wrist, and clamped his arm around her hip. He was gentler this time, and they slipped into the bowels of Frieza’s ship by the blasted viewing window. Computers and screens lined the steel walls, all black, and coated in ash. Large sections of the interior had been blown away, leaving melted steel beams and panels sagging in the hallways and corridors.

Bulma carefully stepped over a toppled computer system of some kind, leaning out into an abandoned corridor. Someone’s hand grabbed her shoulder, pulling her aside. “Stop worrying! There’s no one on this ship, I dealt with most of them already,” Vegeta growled, kicking some warped steel paneling aside.

They followed Vegeta’s lead in silence. Krillin and Gohan dragged Goku down the corridor, and Bulma dug her fingers into her arms, shoulders hunched. An acrid smell, like burning rubber mixed with cooking caught her in the throat, making her gag and when they turned a corner, the source became clear. Broken and battered bodies lay scattered across the floor, the hallway almost ruined. Lights dangled dangerously from the ceiling, flickering, and dark sticky stains covered the floor. Bulma covered her mouth, and looked away.

Krillin sucked in a sharp breath, straightening himself and lifting Goku’s arm higher. “I suppose these were all Frieza’s men?” He asked, quietly.

“Correct, they were,” Vegeta growled, pausing in front of a door. He punched in the code, and the door slid open with a hiss. “In here.”

“You first.”

Vegeta fixed Krillin with a cold look, but stepped over the threshold into a brightly lit, and untouched room. The clean smell of antiseptic cut through the funk, and Bulma jumped through the door, helping the other two lift Goku over the step. A number of tanks filled the room, with cords and pipes leading to the ceiling, and Bulma recognised them as the same kind of machine she’d seen back on Planet 79. Vegeta, however, still felt the need to explain himself. “By tapping into the system we should have Kakarot up to speed in no time,” he supplied, hands on his hips.

Bulma frowned.  _ Tapping into the system? _ She knew Vegeta wasn’t a stupid man, in fact, he was quite smart under all his arrogance, but sometimes he just seemed to slam words and phrases he had heard years before together in the vague hope that something might stick.

“What is this?” Krillin gasped.

Vegeta made a b line to one of the steel trolleys, sweeping papers and trays of equipment off with an ear splitting clatter. He tossed a plastic tray aside and moved onto the next trolley, looking for something. Krillin pulled Goku back to avoid a shower of scalpels, and Goku groaned, lifting his head.

“Hey, it’s alright, don’t worry!” Bulma began, tip toeing over toppled trays and tweezers. She lifted Goku’s chin, peering into his eyes. He looked bad.

“Is he ok?” Gohan piped up.

Bulma tilted Goku’s head, lips pursed. “Yeah,” she said, with a nod, and added a little more firmly. “Yeah, he’s ok. Come on, lets get him over there without stabbing him with any of these weird old ne—”

“ _ Needles!? _ ” Goku shot up between them, his face marble white. He wobbled on the spot, craning his head to look around, and if possible, grew paler. “Oh, no, no needles! I’d rather be sick! I can’t do this!”

“Goku, it’s fine! You have to get better!” Bulma soothed, but Goku had spun on the spot, dragging himself, Gohan, and Krillin towards the door.

“No, no, I can’t do needles! Get me out of here!”

“Would you shut  _ up _ already?” Vegeta cried, tossing another kidney tray away like a frisbee. “I’m not even giving you a needle, idiot!”

Goku went still, and blinked. “Oh, never mind then.”

A slap broke the silence and Krillin buried his face in his hands.

Getting Goku in proved more of a struggle that digging him out of the clay at the foot of the ship. He wavered in and out of consciousness, and Krillin struggled to hold him upright long enough to get him into the tank. Bulma grabbed one of Goku’s arms, pulling and pushing and maneuvering him over the edge of the tank, the other two trying, feebly to push him inside. Vegeta snatched the back of Goku’s gi, and hoisted him up and over the tank wall inside in one swift movement.

Bulma made to pull the oxygen mask over Goku’s face, but Vegeta muscled her aside, and snapped it in place. He slapped a couple of electrodes to the sides of Goku’s temples, glaring all the while. Bulma ushered the other two back, watching closely. Vegeta fiddled with the control panel by the tank, his frown deeper than usual, and something clunked deep inside the confines of the tank. The glass dome descended, and closed with a thud.

“So,” Krillin started, stepping up onto the platform and peering inside the chamber. “How does this work exactly?”

The tank hummed, and inside, Goku’s chest heaved, liquid flooding inside and growing higher. Gohan pressed his face up against the glass, eyes wide, and Goku dropped his chin in a nod, the water rushing past his face.

“The specifics would be over your head,” Vegeta drawled, looking up from the control panel. Bulma rolled her eyes. “It’s called an Isolation chamber. The liquid flooding the chamber is a chemical compound specifically formulated to speed up the recovery process.”

“Wow, thank you Dr Vegeta,” Bulma said with a smile. “It’s a kind of synthetic stem cell gel, Krillin, I had a look at some before!”

Krillin leaned back from the glass, blinking. “Wow, mondo cool!”

“Hmph. ‘ _ Mondo cool’  _ is right. Just don’t expect the same treatment from me once this is over with,” Vegeta muttered, crossing his arms across his chest. Inside the chamber, Goku’s eyes closed, his breathing deepening.

The tank hummed, a few buttons on the control board beeping gently, and Gohan let his hands slip from the glass with a grateful sigh. They all stood there around the chamber, watching Goku closely. Behind the glass, his eyes fluttered, and looking around, Bulma realised that they all looked nervous. If Frieza really was with the Grand Elder and about to get the password, then there was scarce little time left.

The silence continued, from seconds into minutes, and the shadow of Frieza loomed in Bulma’s mind. Red eyed, pale faced, and crowned with horns, she saw him leaning over her, his hand raised and ready to strike in the quiet of the medical ward. She went to say something just to break the spell and distract them all, but Vegeta spoke first, his tone almost awkward, “this chamber is a slightly outdated model but given Kakarot’s resilient nature that won’t make a difference.”

“This model’s outdated?” Gohan asked, barely waiting for Vegeta to finish. “What happened to the other one?”

Vegeta eyed one of the screens on the control panel, and Bulma followed his gaze. He clicked his tongue, and said,  “the newer model and I had a little tiff.”

Bulma choked on her laugh, covering her mouth to stifle the sound and expecting Vegeta to go bright red, but he just turned to the others and said, “let’s do something about your stupid outfits while we’re at it. I’ve got just the thing.”

“Do you mean armour?” Krillin questioned, looking up from the tank. “Like what you’re wearing?”

“But won’t that make us look mean?” Gohan fretted.

Vegeta scoffed, already stalking of towards the door. “Do you want it or not? I don’t care either way.”

Bulma sighed, pulling at the bags under her eyes. The door hissed shut behind Vegeta, and Krillin and Gohan didn’t move. Bulma gave a long, slow blink and waved her hand to Krillin. “Go with him, it’ll be fine. I can tell he’s in a generous mood.”

“It sure doesn’t seem like it, he seems just as arrogant as ever,” Krillin mumbled, but headed off to the door after Vegeta, with Gohan close behind. The door shut, and Bulma dove back into silence. She approached the chamber slowly, holding her arms. Bubbles streamed from Goku’s oxygen mask, brushing up against the tank walls. The scrapes and bruises across his face had already started to shrink, and Bulma allowed herself to take a deep breath.

It’d take Goku at least half an hour, that’s how long it took Vegeta when he had been in the same position. That seemed like a lifetime ago now. She blinked, how long had it been exactly? She tried carefully to count up the days, but lost track. Surely, it had only been a week. Hadn’t it?

The door opened again, and she jumped.

“What part of ‘let’s get you some armour’ did you fail to understand?” Vegeta snapped.

“Why do I need armour? I’m not going to be fighting anyone.”

Vegeta snorted, stalked over, and grabbed her by the hand for once. “For the self proclaimed smartest person on this planet you really do act like an addled fool!” He growled, dragging her out of the room and through the doors. Bulma let him guide her along, noticing how she could, if she wanted to, very easily slip her hand free from his.

“Oh? Is this tactical or amiable?” Bulma asked, pulling her hand back just enough to make him hold her hand tighter.

Vegeta glared. “ _ Practical _ ,” he grunted, letting go.

The hallway opened up into a large, brightly lit room, filled with benches and what looked like lockers. Gohan sat on the floor, with his clothes scattered around him, taking off his socks. Krillin worked his arms into a tight black jumpsuit, muttering curses under his breath. “Man, I know you said this stuff stretches but it doesn’t have a lot of give,” Krillin said without looking up. “It’s like the world’s tightest wetsuit.”

“ _ Shut up _ ,” Vegeta growled, heading towards the lockers.

Bulma wandered over to Gohan, who looked up at her with a relieved smile. His hair stood on end, and he looked in desperate need fo a bath, but otherwise perfectly fine. “Do you think dad will be ok?” He asked in a low voice.

Bulma nodded, reaching for a small, blue suit lying crumpled beside him. “Oh yeah, of course,” she said, offering it to Gohan. “Your dad’s come back from worse, believe me!”

“Yeah, buddy,” Krillin confirmed, hopping on one foot to pull a white boot on. “There’s nothing that can stop Son Goku, he comes back bigger and better after every fight, you’ll see!”

“That’s because he’s Saiyan,” Vegeta’s cold voice cut across the room. Under his arm, he carried a bundle of clothing. “Each time a Saiyan almost dies and recovers their power increases tenfold.”

“Well,” Krillin started, sitting down to pull the second boot on. “I guess you beating the hell out of him on Earth just worked to our advantage,” he said, darkly.

A muscle above Vegeta’s lip twitched, and Bulma got ready to jump between them, but to his credit, Vegeta merely scoffed. He turned his attention to her, and dumped whatever he was carrying onto the floor with a clatter. A pair of boots, gloves, a chest plate and a familiar looking black suit.

“You don’t happen to have anything a little more flattering, do you?” She asked, sweetly, earning another caustic look.

“Perhaps you’d rather be dead so you don’t have to worry about looking appealing ever again?” Vegeta mocked.

“Sounds like you think I look appealing already,” she teased, and his cheeks flushed.

“V-vile woman!” He spat, the air sizzling with energy before he stormed off, hackles raised. She heard him slam his hand onto a keypad, and a door open and close.

“Bulma, what the hell was that? Is it really wise to push his buttons like that?” Krillin asked, shifting beside her.

Bulma raised her eyebrow. “Who, Vegeta? He’s fine,” she said, picking up the body suit up from the floor and holding it close to gauge the size. “If he hated me that much he wouldn’t be trying to dress me up like all his friends.”

“Uh… what does that say about us?” Gohan asked, pulling the chest plate on over his head.

“We’re useful,” Krillin replied.

“Hardly,” Vegeta called from another room with a snort.

“It’s not polite to listen in to private conversations!” Bulma yelled, examining the fabric of the body suit. It really was like a wetsuit, thick and heavy duty but stretchy. “He’s fine, and right now, he’s the best defence we’ve got against Frieza, so leave any sarcasm to me,  _ Krillin _ .”

After several minutes of struggling, Bulma managed to wriggle her way into the bodysuit, pulling it on over her underwear much to Krillin’s embarrassment. She settled down on a bench, and thought briefly about sticking on the chest plate and putting her clothes over the top, but the shoulder pads gave her 80s high powered business woman nightmares. She pulled her jacket back on over the body suit, and headed back to the healing tanks.

The door hissed open, and she looked up in time to see Vegeta standing stock still in front of the glass of Goku’s tank, frowning. When the door opened, he flinched, and stepped back, before his brows drew together again. “Woman, are you playing games? I told you to put something on!”

“I did, I did, don’t freak out, It’s just under my clothes, you’re carrying on like I’m naked,” she said, doing up the zip on her jacket. “Who knew you’d be such a worrywart.”

“A  _ what _ ?”

“A worrywart, someone who worries a lot,” she explained, standing beside him. She turned to the tank, regarding Goku on the other side of the glass. Mouth dry, she looked away and pretended to fiddle with her jacket some more. “He’s not going to believe it when I tell him it was you who finally stuck him in there,” she said with feigned lightness.

“Then don’t tell him,” Vegeta replied, curtly. He folded his arms tight across his chest, and closed his eyes.

They stood there, side by side, bathed in the cool glow of the healing tank, the gentle hum filling the room. Bulma rubbed her arms, mouth tight. “I’m glad you decided to help,” she said after a long while. Vegeta opened one shrewd eye, and she continued. “I know it’s more of a ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ type of situation but I’m glad that you decided to help anway.”

“Hmph.”

“Promise you won’t destroy the universe when you become immortal?” She asked.

Vegeta fixed her with a heavy stare, and she saw his jaw set. “I’m starting to doubt your supposed genius more every hour. If I destroyed it there would be nothing left to rule.”

“I guess that’s the best I can hope for,” Bulma laughed. “And damn right I’m a genius, don’t you forget who helped you get your throne when you get there!”

“Are you bargaining with me?” He asked, flatly.

Bulma’s smile dimmed, and she realised how serious he was. “I’m just saying, maybe you can spare the person who got you here in the first place,” she said.

Something flickered across his face, some emotion writhing briefly under his skin. Keeping one arm folded across his chest, he stuck out his hand for her, and Bulma blinked. She took it, gingerly, and he shook it once before letting go. Bulma tried to stop the barb but it was no use, and she found herself giving him a knowing look, and saying, “wow, maybe you really are a Prince Charming after all.”

“You really do have a death wish, don’t you?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, probably.” She slapped his shoulder, and felt him tighten to the point of shattering and said, a little more seriously. “I’ll keep an eye on the other two, maybe you should try to rest up?”

He didn’t move, and Bulma threw up her hands in defeat. Krillin and Gohan wandered back through the door, Krillin spinning and kicking the air in a familiar suit of white and gold armour. “Wow, this stuff is so light! This is totally unfair, how come the bad guys always get to wear the coolest clothes?” He started, punching the air and paused seeing Vegeta. “Hey, wait, why didn’t you set us up with suits like yours? These shoulder things are kinda stupid, they’ll just get in the way.”

“Oh, _ shut up! _ ” Vegeta snapped, and Bulma couldn’t help another laugh at his tone. “The armour I’m wearing is an older style! It was all I could find in my base size.”

Bulma waltzed between them, her arms out. “Ok, ok, calm down children, there’s no need to get mad!”

Gohan caught Vegeta’s eye. “I think they’re cool.”

“How long will Goku be?” Bulma asked.

Vegeta appeared almost grateful for a change of subject, even if it was to something he hated as much as Goku. “Who knows. Despite your jests, Earth Woman, I’m not a doctor. Judging by his height and weight, I’d say an hour.”

Krillin nodded, and finished adjusting his gloves. “I’ll head on to the Grand Elder then.”

“What? Why? Frieza might already be there,” Bulma said.

“He might be, he might not be, but unless we can figure out what the password is to summon the Dragon, we might as well pack it in. I have to try,” Krillin explained, taking a few steps back towards the door.

“I’ll go with you!” Gohan said, but Krillin held up a hand.

“It’d be better for you to stay here, buddy, I’ll head there on my own, you stay here and wait for your dad to heal up,” he said. Gohan started to protest, but Krillin offered him a determined look. “It’s alright. Protect Bulma for me.”

Gohan pursed his lips, and nodded. Vegeta rolled his eyes with a scoff. Krillin nodded goodbye, and took off out the door again. Gohan turned back to Bulma, brow knit, and Bulma reached out. She placed a hand gently on the top of his head, pushing his hair back out of his face. “Hey, he’ll be ok.”

“I don’t think I’m strong enough to protect you and dad,” Gohan admitted, sheepishly.

“Pick Kakarot then, he’s the more important one.”

“Ugh,  _ really, _ Vegeta?”

“Listen up, brat! Keep an eye on the Dragon Balls until your friend comes back,” Vegeta said, brushing past them and taking a seat on the platform beneath Goku’s chamber. He put his feet up, settling back against a railing.

“And what are you planning to do exactly?” Bulma asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Sleep, like you suggested.”

Gohan frowned, but he turned away and said to Bulma, “it’s fine, Bulma. I’m gonna go outside and just keep watch.”

He ducked out before Bulma could say anything, and Bulma’s hands dropped to her sides. She cast a look over her shoulder back at Vegeta, his chin resting on his chest, his eyes closed. His tail slipped from his waist, looking relaxed, except for the twitching tip. Something whirred deep inside the tank, and in the brightly lit room, it felt like she was standing in one of the labs deep inside Capsule Corp. She sat on the opposite end of the platform, and rubbed her arms again.

“I said to take a rest, not sleep. How can you nap at a time like this?” Bulma asked.

“I won’t if you keep up with your constant blathering.”

She watched him carefully, and his tail flicked a little more. A bruise had started to form on his jaw, and she realised what the issue was. “You know, I can keep an eye out if you wanted to get in and heal yourself,” she offered, gently. “I’m sure Gohan and I could keep you safe for a little while.”

“Safe? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Well, fine then! It’ll have to be the old fashioned way,” Bulma replied testily, slipping her hand into her fanny pack and pulling out a handful of capsules. She selected one, tossed it, and with a pop, a first aid kit appeared.

“You are not touching me with that,” Vegeta said. At the sound of a zip undoing, he sat up, glaring. “Woman, did you hear me?”

“I heard you, I just don’t care,” she said, simply, rummaging around inside and pulling out a crumpled bottle of salve. She slumped on the platform beside him, and he stiffened, but made no move to leave. “Now, shut up, and let me put this on your face at least.”

He leaned away from her hand, cheek flat to his shoulder but stubbornly refusing to get up. Bulma wiped the salve carefully across his skin, and he turned to steel beneath her fingers. She finished quickly, wiping her hand, and popped a few tablets into her hand. His tail caught her around the wrist in a vice. “I am not taking those.”

“They’re not poison, it’s just paracetamol,” Bulma explained. “They’re mild painkillers.” His tail twisted, forcing her hand to flick, and the tablets scattered on the tile. Bulma threw her head back with a groan, and ripped her hand from him. “Far out! Really? I’m helping you, you big jerk!”

“You’ve helped enough.”

“It’s still more than you!”

“I get you all new suits, take you in, save your lives, and this is how you repay me?”

“As far as I’m concerned this only just pays me back for all the meals I cooked for you like your personal chef!” Bulma returned, but she struggled to keep a smile pulling at her mouth.

“With your poor cooking you’ve only covered a fraction of your owed debt!”

She folded her arms to mirror his, and laughed. Vegeta looked away, but not before she caught the tail end of his snigger. She sat back, putting the salve back, and doing up the first aid kit, and Vegeta’s shoulder brushed against hers. Sitting together, alone in the room, she sank further back into her mind. She clutched at the first aid kit, running her fingers over the zipper.

_ Trust him. _

She didn’t know how much Goku believed his own advice, but it smoothed her worry at least. Vegeta wouldn’t hurt her, and for all his blustering and complaining, she knew on some deep level, he wouldn’t harm the others either, but there had still been the worry that he just might, if pushed far enough. Goku was naive, sure, he always saw the best in people and for years and maybe it wasn’t always correct but this time, he wasn’t just being some hopeful young boy from the woods, he could see something fundamental had changed about Vegeta. Just how much however was up for debate.

“If the bald one or Kakarot find out what transpired between us I’ll flay them both,” Vegeta announced, suddenly. Bulma leaned forward slightly to see his face. His eyes remained closed, and his mouth pursed. She smirked.

“I’m serious, woman.”

“Not bothering to threaten me there, big boy?” She asked with a sly tilt of her head. “That’s twice you’ve done that now.”

Vegeta huffed. “You’ve never heeded my threats before, what would change now?”

“Sounds like someone wants me to kiss his boo-boo better. It’s fine, you can just say it’s because if I was gone you’d have no one to talk to,” Bulma crooned, popping the lid of the first aid kit’s capsule. The first aid kit shuddered, and vanished with another, loud pop, and Bulma brushed away the smoke with her hand. “I’ll go join Gohan, I’ll scream if there’s any trouble.”

“I’m sure you will, it’s been been your most troublesome feature since we set foot on this planet,” Vegeta rumbled, but he hadn’t bothered to hide the curve to his mouth as he said it, and Bulma’s smirk grew deeper. He really  _ did _ like her.

Getting to her feet, she let her hand brush against his thigh, and linger a little longer than what was considered safe. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled with the weight of his glare, and she slipped out of the room.

Bulma headed for the front of the ship, stepping over the smouldering remains of alien bodies, keeping her eyes forward. She held her breath, retracing her steps until a cool breeze grazed her skin, and an open door to the outside came into view. Gohan or Krillin must have figured out how to open it.

She stuck her head out, and let go of her breath. Namek’s swollen suns blazed, the light glittering on the seas. Waves lapped against the shore, insects hummed, and down below, Gohan perched on one of the Dragon Balls in his new gleaming armour.

He startled when she touched his arm, but smiled. “Doesn’t this armour look cool?” He asked, admiring the pristine white gloves in awe. He jumped off the ball he was sitting on, and ran a few steps ahead of her. “Watch this!”

He kicked the air, spinning around, finishing with a flourish. Bulma laughed, clapping politely. “Wow!  _ Very _ impressive!”

His face lit up, grinning, and Bulma tried not to let the guilt show on her face. Chi-chi would be worried sick about him. She sat down on the Dragon Balls, looking up at the sky, and tapped the other Dragon Ball expectantly. Gohan hurried over, taking his seat again beside her. “I think we can do this!” He said, excited.

“Do you think so?” She asked.

“Yeah! You saw how strong Vegeta was, and when my dad’s back, he’ll be even stronger! This Frieza guy won’t know what hit him!”

Gohan’s dark eyes burned, and Bulma’s face softened; she’d recognise that determined look anywhere. “Try not to get ahead of yourself. Your mum wants you back in one piece, remember?”

“Oh, y-yeah.” Gohan looked away, smoothing his hair. “She’d be so mad if she saw me dressed like Vegeta.”

“Oh, she’ll be mad at someone, but it probably won’t be you.”

They talked a little, Gohan telling telling her what he and Krillin had been up to while she’d been with Vegeta. Gohan had jumped to his feet, acting out their victories, regaling her with tales of how they narrowly avoided detection, and meeting the Grand Elder. Gohan’s face lit up with each passing minute, and she could see that under his neat school boy hair and polite manners, Gohan was a Saiyan as his father and Vegeta. He relished a challenge, even if he didn’t like fighting the same way they did.

Finally, he finished, and he came back to her side, brushing the hair out of his face. “Can I ask you something?”

“Fire away, lil’ dude.”

Gohan cleared his throat, and gulped. “Has he… has he really changed?”

Vegeta’s warning echoed, but she leaned back slightly, and said with a smile, “oh, yeah. He’s turned out pretty cute.”

“Eww, Bulma! Come on!”

She let her laugh fade, before taking a long breath, and holding it. She offered Gohan a gentle look. “He’s a big, festering jerk and a bully, so that part’s still the same,” she said, and Gohan laughed. “But he’s nothing if not full of surprises, he’s got some kind of heart under all that, even if it’s all shrivelled and stupid.”

Taking her words in, Gohan nodded, and looked away across the bay. The wind blew softly between the shrubs and scattered trees, and the water gleamed with liquid gold. Gohan stiffened, and jumped to his feet. “Something’s coming this way!” He said, taking a step in front of Bulma.

“Who? Can you tell who it is?”

Gohan closed his eyes, hanging his head. Bulma held her breath again. “It’s two energies, but they don’t feel evil,” he explained, squinting against the glare. He kicked off, feet leaving the ground and floated up above Bulma’s head. Bulma shielded her eyes against the sun, peering out across the water, scanning the horizon, until she heard the distant roar of people flying. Gohan let out a laugh, lifting his hands up. “It’s Krillin! He’s coming back, and he’s with someone!”

The roar grew, and two dots hurtled towards them, flying low. Bulma strained her eyes to see; there was Krillin, in his new, dark armour, and a second, smaller figure, with purple and white robes flying out behind them.

“It’s Dende!” Gohan exclaimed, waving his hands. “Hey! Krillin, Dende! Over here!”

Bulma rushed to meet them as they landed, biting back tears. “Dende!” She laughed, dropping to her knees and pulling them into a short hug.

“Hi.”

“Oh my god, are you alright? Is everything ok? You didn’t see Frieza did you? Did any of the other Namekians survive?” The questions tumbled out of her and Dende stared up at her, wide eyed. They pulled back slightly, looking between them all.

“I’m well, but it is not all good,” they admitted, quietly. “I came at the Grand Elder’s request; I need to warn you all!”

“Oh no,” Krillin squeaked.

“The one who killed the other Namekians, Frieza, was heading for the Elder, and I was sent ahead to find you, I have to help you unlock the Dragon Balls,” Dende explained quickly.

“Bulma, where’s Vegeta?” Krillin hissed.

“Passed out in front of a fish tank,” Bulma replied. “Dende, you know how the Dragon Balls work?”

Dende stared deep into the amber surface of the first Dragon Ball. “Yes! That’s why I’m here! You have to make your wishes now,” Dende explained, growing pale. “The Grand Elder is dying, once he is gone, there will be no chance to use them again. I know what you are planning to wish for, and the Grand Elder knows you are good people. We have to hurry!”

“Ok, let’s take them away from the ship,” Krillin said, scooping up one of the Dragon Balls under his arm. “Once we summon the dragon, it’ll be obvious to everyone on the planet what we’re doing.”

“I’ll tell Vegeta,” Bulma began, but someone grabbed her arm.

“You can’t,” Krillin said, grip tightening on her sleeve. “He’ll double cross us.”

“Oh, come on, you can’t still think that!” She said, but her voice withered at their faces. Dende and Gohan were pale, eyes wide and fearful, and Krillin watched her with a stony expression she’d rarely ever seen. “G-Goku said to trust him.”

Krillin frowned, and she heard him grind his teeth. He let go, and she snatched her arm away. He picked up a second Dragon Ball, juggling it under his free arm. “I suppose. But at least let us make our wishes first, before he has his. Just in case. Please?”

Bulma opened her mouth to argue, but slammed it shut. She sighed, and nodded. “Ok, fine. Come on, let’s grab these and take them somewhere else. But not too far, ok? I don’t want him thinking we betrayed him.”

“Fine,” Krillin answered.

They landed on an island a little way from the ship. Bulma set her Dragon Ball down in the grass, the surface ringing, and the others quickly did the same. She turned on the spot, looking back at Frieza’s crippled ship, squatting between the hills with two gaping holes in its front. She chewed her lip; Vegeta would realise soon enough what they had done.

Krillin bunched the Dragon Balls together, careful not to let them bang against each other. “We’ve gotta do this quick. Frieza could be coming back any moment, and Vegeta is going to be more than upset when he wakes up.”

“Have you ever summoned the Dragon before, Dende?” Gohan asked, and Dende visibly gulped.

“N-no, but the Grand Elder, he gave me the power to do so, and I know what I have to say,” they said, approaching the Dragon Balls and standing over them. Krillin and Gohan stepped back, and Bulma whipped out the scouter, holding it to her eye. She flicked it on and peered at the readings. No power level readings. She placed it back into her fanny pack, and nodded to Dende. “Let’s get this over with.”

Dende nodded, and turned back to the Dragon Balls. They spread their hands wide in embrace, craning their head back, and shouted to the sky. The words fell off their tongue like stones, crashing through Bulma’s brain and into her core, writing themselves on the inside of her chest until Dende went quiet. A cricket chirped, and Krillin cleared his throat. “Are you sure that’s the right password?”

Something answered, and it rippled through the clay. The Dragon Balls shuddered, ringing, and the hairs on Bulma’s arms stood on end. She stepped back, pulling Gohan back with her. The Dragon Balls’ vibrations grew stronger, the sound setting her teeth on edge, and deep within the amber spheres, the stars glowed. A light shot out from the balls, and the three suns went out, the sky turning inky black, but the horizon still glowed iridescent green.

Thunder rumbled, deep within the earth, lightning arcing around a solid beam of golden light that twisted, and undulated, until it burst into scaly coils as thick as mountains, and burning emerald. The Dragon reared its head, all teeth, horns, and piercing red eyes that zeroed in on Bulma’s soul.

“Oh, God,” she breathed, staring up at it. “ _ It’s so gross. _ ”

“Please don’t disrespect the Dragon!” Dende cried, pulling at their antennae. “This is the Namek Dragon, his name is Porunga, which means Dragon of Love in our language, he is ancient and vastly powerful!”

“I hate how ripped it is,” Bulma winced, eyeing the Dragon’s sinister form, towering over them in a halo of glowing light.

“Bulma! It’s a magic wish granting Dragon!” Krillin pleaded. “Don’t call it ‘ripped’!”

The Dragon opened its jaws, its breath coming out in a tempest, each word heavier than the last. “ **YOU HAVE COLLECTED ALL SEVEN DRAGON BALLS, I WILL GRANT YOU THREE WISHES AS A BOON FOR SUMMONING ME. THINK WISELY, AND I WILL GRANT YOU THOSE WISHES WITHIN MY POWER.** ”

Ears ringing, Bulma lowered her hands, turning to the others. “Come on, we’ve got wishes to make, let’s try getting everyone back.”

“Right!” Krillin turned to Dende, clearing his throat. “Dende, ask the Dragon if he will bring back our dead friends.”

Dende nodded, turning back to the Dragon, whos coils shifted and curled around themselves. Dende spoke again, their small voice vanishing in the rush of air with each of the Dragon’s breaths. The Dragon listened, and then opened his mouth again. “ **YOUR WISH IS UNACCEPTABLE** .”

“Oh,  _ come on! _ ” Bulma barked. “Shenron wished people back all the time!”

“ **ONLY ONE LIFE CAN BE RESTORED WITH ONE WISH** ,” the Dragon thundered **.** “ **READ THE FINE PRINT**.”

“ _ How do you even know what that is!? _ ”

“Bulma!” Gohan cried. “You’re going to get us all squished! We have to make a decision about who we bring back!”

“Tien and Chiaotzu were good fighters,” Krillin stammered. “But I suppose maybe you’d want Yamcha back first, huh, Bulma?”

Bulma’s throat tightened. “Uh—”

“ **DO NOT GET ME WRONG, I AM ENJOYING THE FRESH AIR AND ALL,** ” the Dragon rumbled behind them, his voice shaking the sea. “ **BUT IF YOU CAN’T DECIDE, JUST WISH FOR NOTHING THREE TIMES SO I CAN GO.** ”

“Hey,  _ shut up _ ! We’re working on it!” Bulma shrieked, and the Dragon blinked. She whipped around to Krillin and Gohan, sweat forming around her hairline. “We don’t need everyone back, we just need Piccolo. Once Piccolo is back, then Kami is back, and we have extra Dragon Balls at our disposal that we know are able to bring back multiple people unlike this big jacked up lizard.”

“ **I CAN HEAR YOU.** ”

Dende looked like they were about to pass out.

“If we have the Earth Dragon Balls, then we have two more wishes we can use right now,” Bulma continued. “Trust me on this one.”

“Alright, Dende!” Krillin called, cupping his hands over his mouth. “Ask the Dragon to wish Piccolo back to life, and with the second wish, to bring him to Namek!”

The Dragon tilted his head listening to Dende. He let out a thoughtful rumble, but dipped his horns in a nod. “ **IT SHALL BE DONE.** ”

Something beeped, and Bulma started. She ripped open her fanny pack, the beeping becoming louder, and grabbed the scanner. The ping grew shrill, and she slammed it onto her ear awkwardly. Messages streamed across the screen, a map lighting up with a power level looming in the corner, heading towards them. “Oh, no.”

“What is it?” Gohan asked, but his words cut short, and he froze. Krillin turned to the horizon, eyes fearfully wide, and hands shaking.

“I can feel that from here,” he whimpered. “That’s Frieza for sure, he’s heading this way!”

The Dragon let out a sound like an erupting volcano, and Bulma realised it was his sigh. “ **I AM RUNNING OUT OF PATIENCE, SPEAK NOW, AND TELL ME YOUR NEXT WISH** .”

“Please hurry!” Dende squeaked.

“Dende, wish our friend Piccolo to Namek!” Krillin cried.

“ _ Wait— _ !” Bulma started, but Dende was already speaking.

The Dragon listened, and after what seemed an eternity, clicked his tongue, deep in his throat. “ **YOUR WISH HAS BEEN GRANTED. THE ONE CALLED PICCOLO HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO NAMEK.** ”

Krillin spun around, ashen faced. “B-but he’s not here! Where is he?”

“ **ON NAMEK** .”

Bulma moaned, the scouter beeping wildly between her fingers. “He could be anywhere! Krillin, you should have been more specific!”

“It should have been obvious we wanted him here with us!” Krillin bristled. “Doesn’t the Dragon know what ‘context’ is?”

Dende hopped on the spot, visibly sweating as they cried, “everyone please, it’s not Porunga’s fault! We should have been clearer! We can use the last wish to wish him to this exact spot—Ah! Oh no!” Dende paled, shaking, and the scouter went wild.

“Someone’s woken up!” Krillin announced, spinning around towards the ship. “And it feels like it was on the wrong side of the bed!”

“Shut up and let me do the talking or you’ll all end up scalped!” Bulma snapped, pushing past Gohan and Krillin and heading to the edge of the island. Something shot off from the side of the ship in a blast of blinding light, and soared through the air in a graceful arc before turning, and shooting towards them. Bulma took the scanner off her ear, and settled one hand on her hip. The energy rippled across her skin, and the iron stung her teeth.

Vegeta landed like a meteor, rock and debris flying, smoke coming off him in waves as he stormed towards them, his eyes set on murder. Bulma side stepped in front of Krillin and Gohan, holding her head high. “Vegeta, don’t start!”

“ _What’s the matter!?_ _You all look a little surprised to see me!_ ” He boiled, staring past her, his shoulders shaking.

“Everything’s fine.”

“No, I don’t think everything is  _ fine _ , and I will tell you why everything is  _ not _ fine!” Veins throbbed in his temples, and his eyes bulged, spit flying with every word. She’d seen him angry before, but she’d never seen him look  _ pissed _ . “How dare you? How  _ dare _ you? Ungrateful little punks! After all I have done for the lot of you! I saved your pitiful lives! Well,  _ you brats can kiss your sorry asses goodbye! _ ”

Bulma held up her hand, and she saw his eyes flit to her face. “We already made the wishes we needed, and there’s still one left. Hurry up and make it!”

Vegeta faltered, wavering on the spot, before his scowl returned. He straightened up, clearing his throat, and walked forward to meet him, the smoke trailing off his shoulders. “Good. Good. It’s a good thing you’re all not as stupid as I thought you were,” he said with a resigned growl.

“ **SPEAK. MAKE YOUR LAST WISH NOW** ,” The Dragon commanded, the spines bristling along his length.

“Alright, we’re out of time!” Vegeta barked, flying into action. He rounded on Dende, and Dende quailed. “You! Kid! Ask your filthy Namek Dragon to grant me eternal life.  _ Now! _ ”

“Manners, please!” Bulma reminded him, and he shook her off with a feral growl.

He crossed the grass, looming over Dende, and grabbed them by the front of their robes. “Come here, green bean; do you need a little encouragement?”

The scouter struck him in the head and bounced off into the grass. “Vegeta! Put them down and be polite! Everyone wants you to have your wish!”

“I don’t,” Krillin grunted.

Vegeta let go and Dende dropped like a bag of stones with a cry. Bulma rushed forward and helped them up, rounding on Vegeta and spitting venom. “When this is over, you better fucking apologise to everyone for your shitty behaviour!”

Dende got to their feet, brushing the dirt from their robes, pivoting on one foot to fact the Dragon. Dende lifted their arms, scrunched their eyes shut, and spoke. The Dragon moved his head, and Bulma felt his gaze settle on Vegeta with the weight of a thousand stars.

“ **YOUR WISH IS UNACCEPTABLE.** ”

“ _ What!? _ ” Vegeta’s shriek split rocks.

“ **YOUR WISH IS POSSIBLE, YES** ,” the Dragon explained. “ **BUT NOT APPROPRIATE, AT LEAST, NOT FOR YOU.** ”

“What the hell do you mean? This is all I want!” Vegeta screamed, wreathed in ki.

“I knew it, Vegeta is too evil and the Dragon won’t grant it to him because he knows Vegeta will just take Frieza’s place!” Krillin said. “We should have guessed!”

“ **I DO NOT DEAL IN GOOD AND EVIL DEEDS, EVERYONE IS FREE TO MAKE THEIR OWN CHOICES. I JUST THINK THIS WISH IS OBJECTIVELY BAD CHOICE.** ”

Vegeta yelled again, gnashing his teeth like a rabid dog. “I don’t need your constructive criticism! I need immortality!”

“ **YOU DO NOT WANT THIS. I HAVE SEEN INTO YOUR HEART, AND I CANNOT ALLOW YOU THIS. WISH FOR SOMETHING ELSE, OR NOTHING, AND BE DONE WITH IT.** ” The Dragon’s eyes fell on Bulma, and she thought she saw them narrow, thoughtfully. “ **THANK ME LATER.** ”

Vegeta stared, mouth agape, and all the rage left him. His knees shook, his hands balled into tight, ki filled fists. The Dragon rumbled, and opened his mouth again, and stopped. The Dragon shuddered, a ripple starting from his great head down to his tail, his form wavering. The glow of the Dragon Balls flickered, and Dende stepped back gasping. The Dragon went still, and its eyes grew dark. A crack appeared in the centre of the beast, radiating out in a spider’s web of glowing light until the Dragon shattered, and vanished in an almighty thunder clap. The Dragon Balls flew up into the sky, the light going out, and the sky becoming bright once more.

The Dragon Balls fell back to earth with a crash, grey, and nothing but stone.

Vegeta’s knees gave way, and he slumped onto the ground, shaking.

“H-he’s gone? What happened?” Krillin asked.

Dende’s hands flew to their face, tears welling in their eyes. “T-the Grand Elder, he’s passed. He’s gone.”

A heavy silence followed, and Bulma gulped. They’d missed their chance. The scouter whirred, vibrating in Bulma’s hand, the visor flashing red and yellow, and Bulma knew what that meant. She placed her hand on Vegeta’s shoulder, and he didn’t bother to shake her off. “Frieza’s coming,” she said, quietly.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Dende,” Krillin said, and Vegeta shot to his feet.

“Who cares about that?” He howled. “Don’t you get it? If it didn’t grant me my wish, then that means I’m not immortal, and that means Frieza’s going to—!” He cut off, eyes wide, staring, and all the blood left his face. They turned, following his gaze, and above them, floating above the cliff, a single horned figure.

“Oh, please, go on, go on, by all means,” Frieza hissed. “ _ Give me some ideas. _ ”   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god bwess us evewy wun! Happy Holidays folks, here's a christmas day update. Sorry no picture this time, I've been busy and having a bit of an art block so its just a big hunk of writing. We haven't got long to go now!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the home stretch now baby! Where we're going we don't need no play by play re-cap of everything that happened over the course of 200 odd episodes!

Bulma’s stomach dropped ten stories. Legs trembling, she stepped back, unconsciously reaching for Vegeta’s hand. Frieza landed on the grass lightly, his scanner blinking, and the sunlight caught the cruel edges of his armour like teeth.

“So the Ginyu force _are_ dead,” Frieza announced, voice icy. Frieza's tail swept across the grass, and a wave of static crawled across the field. “I would have enjoyed seeing the look on Ginyu’s face but, no matter, no matter, you know what they say, ‘if you want a job done right…’”

“Go on then, do your worst!” Vegeta righted himself, his back straight, his stance wide, and Bulma watched with horror as he tightened his fists. “This will be no easy fight.”

“Oh, ho! Care to explain how? Because I can only see two dead men walking, two children and—” Frieza’s eyes flicked to Bulma. “ _One_ _bitch who has really ruined my day_.”

The blast knocked the wind out of her, the ground rumbling. Krillin pulled her back, arm up to shield them from the hail of stones and dust. The wave ended, and someone threw her bodily behind a cliff as another explosion sounded with a plume of caustic smoke. Bulma pressed her back to the rock, coughing, her eyes watering. She wiped the dust from her face, and saw Krillin snatch up Gohan’s hand, taking off into the grey, his voice snatched by the wind. “ _Let’s go for broke!_ ”

The ground shook again, and Bulma scrunched her eyes shut.

Small hands grabbed hers, yanking her forward. “Hurry! Hurry, we have to find better cover!” Dende shouted, another ear splitting crack sounding behind them, the rock cleaving in two.

The cliff gave way, sagging, and toppling forward. Adrenaline shot to Bulma’s legs, and suddenly she was moving, grabbing Dende by the back of their robe, and twisting out of the way as the bluff shattered in a flash of blinding white. Gohan and Krillin appeared beside her, faces lined with dirt and sweat. Krillin caught his breath, panting, the dust clearing.

Out of the cloud, Frieza appeared, his arm outstretched, his head tilted. The fear clawed at Bulma’s throat, suffocating her. Her heart forgot how to beat, and her lungs struggled to take in air. She’d been scared before when she first laid her eyes on Frieza, but she had never been _petrified_.  His lips quirked with a smile, and the ki in his palm flared red.

Another blast, and searing light, and suddenly an island kilometres away across the sea blew up in a cloud of white fire and smoke. Vegeta stood in front of them, his fist raised, and trembling, smoke curling around his glove. Bulma thought she heard him laugh under his breath, and she realised just how powerful he really was.

Krillin waved the others back. “I-I think we’re out of our league.”

“Precisely,” Frieza purred. “What did you expect when a couple of ants confront a God? Well, I hope you all enjoyed your little taste of rebellion.”

Vegeta’s tail gave one adamant flick.

“Oh, really?” He sounded. “I think if the three of us banded together you’d have your work cut out for you.”

Bulma’s heart gave out; he can’t be _serious_.

Gohan gasped. “What is he saying?”

“Mm?” Frieza narrowed his gaze. “You think so? Truthfully? My, perhaps you apes do have a sense of humour after all!”

“Laugh all you want, surely even you can figure out that their power levels are growing. The brat in particular possesses a power even greater than he realises,” Vegeta sneered. Gohan gaped, shaking in his boots, and Frieza’s gaze flitted between them with the bored, knowing expression of a crocodile gazing at a drowning bird. Vegeta continued, “and as for me, I am becoming what you feared most.”

“Do you really expect me to believe that?” Frieza crooned, before his face twisted into something dark. “Enough of your boasting. It’s time to put an end to this; keep being acting bold though, I am enjoying your last display!”

In the pause that followed, Krillin pushed them back and behind a rock before Frieza launched forward with a cry. The tang of iron filled Bulma’s mouth like a bullet, drilling into her teeth and the back of her eyes. Over the roar of flaring ki, she heard two scouters wail.

Frieza's voice rose above the noise, spitting his words, “ _impudent, insolent little—_!”

The scouter in Bulma’s fanny pack exploded. She ripped the bag off, her leg stinging, and squinted against the glare to see Frieza’s fists, raised to strike, and held firmly in place by two white gloved hands.

The island groaned, the earth swelling beneath their feet, the ki ballooned outward in a bloody haze. The rock fractured, the sound leaving Bulma’s ears ringing. The light went out, but she still saw stars. The debris cleared, leaving behind a crater and two titans perched on the rim. Vegeta’s shoulders trembled, but he stood fast. Frieza reached up with a delicate hand, and wiped something from the corner of his mouth, tutting.

“Perhaps there is a grain of truth to your words,” Frieza lulled, but his smug expression cracked at the seams. “But I am done playing children’s games with you, little prince.”

In the quiet that followed, Bulma heard herself wheezing. The world grew still, no insect song, not breath of wind, no lapping of the water against the shore. Planet Namek held its breath with her when Vegeta spoke; “then what are you waiting for?”

“Not this again!” Krillin hissed, wiping his face.

“If you’re so sick of us being in your way, why don’t you just transform already and be done with it?” Vegeta barked, his voice echoing.

Bulma shook her head, her words returning with a sullen croak. “What’s he doing?” She asked.

Krillin grabbed her under the arm, dragging her back through the dirt, trying to put as much distance between them and Frieza. “Getting himself killed!”

“My, someone has been doing their homework!” Frieza called, the wind whispering across the plane. “So you know my little secret?”

“Zarbon let one or two things slip, yes.”

She recognised the fierceness of his stance, the way his tail arched high and bristled out. He champed at the bit, his eyes burning, and she saw Goku in his stead, from hundreds of battles before. Vegeta was going to fight until the death, and only the biggest and most brutal would satisfy.

“Since you have served me so loyally for years as my star pupil, Vegeta, I’ll humour you,” Frieza grinned. “But it’s been so long since I last transformed! Oh, dear me, would you be so kind as to count me in?”

“ _Come on! That’s ridiculous!_ ” Vegeta snarled.

Bulma’s voice broke, screaming, “Vegeta don’t you fucking _dare_!”

“I’m waiting.”

Vegeta hesitated, his gaze flitting towards her, and returning to Frieza, lost to the fight. “ _Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnine_ go!” He blurted. “Happy now?”

Frieza’s smile grew, and all hope crumbled. “ _Elated_.”

 

****

 

He saw red, blood clouding his vision.

“You’re just like your father, the _good king._ ”

The words ring in his brain, drowning out the wind and the sea, blotting out the never ending sky above his head.

 _The good king_.

Vegeta’s hands trembled. He heard the shrill cries of the woman, muffled by distance, but Frieza filled his view, his armour gone, a dark and unnatural ki crackling across his skin. Like metal on metal, the sound bore through his brain, into his spine, threatening to snap him in two through vibration alone. Frieza grew, his body contorted and stretching, muscles ripping from his bone and rearranging into new shapes, and the blood roared in Vegeta’s ears.

“Vegeta, you’re speechless! Are you all out of boastful quips?” Frieza’s voice came out in a growl from somewhere deep in his cavernous chest, grating on Vegeta’s bones.

The words pound in his heart like the drums of war. _Kill him, kill him, kill him, kill him, kill him._

Things happen in bursts, and Vegeta can’t place where one attack ends and the other begins.  Frieza lurched forward in a flash of red, suddenly on top of Krillin, and the cloud of blood that comes out is brilliant red.

Someone shrieked, voice breaking, and Vegeta can’t move. Gohan launched himself at Frieza, the ki flying from his fists in a rage, and he kicked Frieza square in the jaw, sending him spiralling across the plane. The sky lit up with brilliant gold, and heat.

Something wet splattered across Vegeta’s cheek, and he realised dully, that it was someone’s still warm blood.

_Kill him, kill him, kill him!_

Every strike is heavier than the last, the light burning his eyes, the planet groaning with every endured hit, until silence falls again, and in the pause, Vegeta sees Gohan, blue in the face, seconds from passing out, the ki flickering in his chest like a flame struggling in a windstorm. Far below, the Namek child hauled a body free from the water, and Bulma rushed to their aid.

For one brief moment, it’s over.

But Frieza’s energy surged again, and he launched up out of the smouldering clay, striking Gohan down and sending that kid plummeting to the planet’s surface. Vegeta’s body tensed, and took up a fighting stance on instinct alone, and the nightmare started anew.

 

****

 

Bulma grasped Krillin’s wrist. His eyes are open, his head lolling as Dende adjusted him on the grass, wiping the water and blood from his face. Bulma dug her fingers into his skin, and just on the edge of feeling; a faint, rapid pulse.

Blood spilled out onto the grass from an ugly, meaty hole in Krillin’s chest, his armour shattered. The pulse between her fingers started to fade, and Dende placed their small hands over the gash. Behind them, the ground trembled again, and explosions sounded mixed with Vegeta’s madden howls.

Her chest tightened. She held Krillin’s hand, almost crushing his fingers.

Vegeta can handle it; he’s _always_ handled it.

Dende’s antennae twitched, and warm static crept up Bulma’s arms. Gold light trickled out of Dende’s hands, seeping into Krillin’s wound, and Bulma watched in horror as muscle, bone and blood all congealed and weaved together under Dende’s finger tips. Krillin’s pulse grew stronger, and he twitched in her grip. His eyes rolled, and he gasped.

“Krillin, oh, God, Krillin!”

Krillin turned his head, blinking. “B-Bulma?”

An explosion sounded again, deeper, louder, and Vegeta shrieked, “ _is that all you’ve got?_ ”

Bulma’s head snapped up, and across the grass, she picked out Freiza’s figure alone among the broken earth and split stones, and something small cowering under his foot. Krillin shot up, pushing Bulma aside, a gaping hole visible in his armour but with new, taut pink skin beneath it.

“Dende, get ready, I’m going to do something stupid,” he said.

Bulma made to grab him, to hold him back, but Krillin kicked off, the ki curling between his fingers and into broad, gleaming disc. Krillin pulled his arms back, and threw the disc. Frieza looked up at the movement, eyes wide, and with a horrid crunch, he reeled back. The disc hurtled off into the sky, dissipating with a wink, and on the ground a fleshy pink and purple tail thrashed. Frieza spun around, docked tail held high, spit flying as he thundered, “you again? Your kind are just vermin, aren’t you?”

Krillin grinned, blew a raspberry, and kicked off in a streak of blue. Frieza took off after him, the roar bursting Bulma’s eardrums, and the world went silent again. Dende slipped from Bulma’s grasp, and rushed towards the tiny figure in the middle of the field.

 

****

 

 _Nothing is working_. The thought tolled, echoing.

“He’s dead! Piccolo killed him!” Krillin exclaimed, breaking off with a laugh.

“He’s not gone.” The words fell out of Vegeta’s mouth from some deep and hidden place. They’re fearful sounds.

“Hey Vegeta, come on! Can’t you feel that? He’s gone! We thrashed him.”

The Namek stood alone in the grass, his cloak billowing in the wind. Smoke rose over the water from toppled islands and cliffs, the sea churning with the aftermath. He flew in, a demon straight from the depths of hell, striking Frieza down in a haze of ki, and the morons hooted and howled with every hit, but the doubt gnawed at the base of Vegeta’s neck.

It isn’t over.

Frieza isn’t going to be ended by some simple Namek warrior, especially not the one he’d seen shot down in seconds back on Earth.

It goes on. Every strike pummeling into the planet’s surface, the jade sea spilling into the newly forms cracks and craters. Vegeta shielded his eyes from the blinding light, burning stones falling like rain, and Vegeta foolishly allowed himself a moment to think that maybe, for once, the little morons are actually right. Maybe Frieza _is_ on the ropes, and maybe wishing back their big green buddy wasn’t such a waste of a wish after all, but Frieza’s power surged, and his laugh cut through him like a knife.

“I’ve had enough now! You’ve really pushed it. I hope you’re feeling good about yourself because truly, I haven’t had a fight like this in years!” Frieza called, his voice dripping treacle sweet. “But it’s over now.” He thrashed his cropped tail, tossing his horns, and Vegeta recognised the surge in his ki. When Frieza transforms again, it comes as no surprise, and what little shred of hope there was is quickly snuffed.

_Nothing is working._

“You, _Earthling_ , listen up!” Vegeta’s hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of Krillin’s bodysuit. Krillin paled, drenched with sweat. “I have an idea, and I don’t want to hear any of your stupid crap.”

Krillin held his breath, his voice coming out in a squeak. “I can only promise to try.”

“The only way to beat Frieza is to whip me to within an inch of my life,” Vegeta growled.

Krillin blinked, swallowing hard. “That seems k-kind of counterintuitive—!”

“Have you not got it through your thick skull? A Saiyan comes back ten times stronger each time he almost dies, that’s why your little brat friend is now holding his own against Frieza, it’s why I stuffed your precious Kakarot into a healing chamber when I should have just killed him. I need to be stronger, _now_ , understand me?”

Another explosion rocked the planet, the sky burning red, and Gohan lowered his hands, struggling to stay afloat.

Krillin tore his gaze away from the fight. “Y-yeah!”

“Good answer!” Vegeta barked. “Now get to it!”

Krillin gulped again, twisting in his grasp. “But I could hurt you!”

“That’s the _point!_ ”

Krillin grabbed Vegeta’s fist, and pried it from his front. “N-no! Damn it, I hate your guts but I can’t do it!” Krillin threw his hand aside. “Besides! After seeing what Gohan can do, I don’t think we even need you!”

“ _Are you serious? He’s got no power left!_ ”

Vegeta wracked his brain, his tail bristling. Below, the fight continued, Frieza prowling on the edge of the battlefield, the clouds darkening overhead, and the power filling the air like the static before a thunderstorm. Frieza’s body convulsed, and Vegeta resisted the urge to groan aloud.

This is getting old.

He turned back to Krillin. “Come on, come on, we still have time! Just do it!”

Krillin’s fist tightened, and energy coursed through Vegeta’s veins, pooling in his joints. “I can’t fight you, V-Vegeta,” Krillin began.

He snatched Krillin’s fist, buried it into his armour, below his heart, away from his lungs, but high enough to hurt like hell, and goes all out. _“You humans are pathetic! I should have just wasted you all back on Earth!_ ”

The blast went clear through his stomach, and he felt it tear through sinew and bone with a hideous snap, and then it all went cold.

He fell back, blood trailing out behind him, and Vegeta’s mouth twisted into a smile and someone above his head yelled out; “Krillin, what hell was that for?”

 

****

The blast caught Bulma off guard, and she jumped.

Wiping the sweat and dirt from her eyes, squinting, her heart leapt into her throat. Krillin reeled back mid air, staring at his hand in horror, and Vegeta fell like a stone. Off to the side, on one of the many islands, clouds gathered above an ominous red glow. She can feel Frieza’s power reverberating off her chest, but he’s nothing compared to _this_.

She grabbed Dende under the arm, and ran. She slipped and tumbled, the earth shuddering, but she pushes through. The cliffs crumbled around her, the sea pounding the shore and spray shooting high into the air with a beastly hiss. Dende pulled themself free from her grip, and she doesn’t care. With the weight gone, her feet carry her faster, and she slid to a halt, almost toppling over the top of a bloody, broken body.

Bulma cupped Vegeta’s face, turning him to look at her, and his eyes flickered. “Woman, where’s that green brat?” He hissed between his teeth, blood spilling out the corner of his mouth.

“Dende?” Bulma whipped around, her hair flying, eyes searching the toppled mountains and churned up plains. The dust cleared, and Dende ran headlong into Bulma, almost toppling her, but Vegeta’s hand grabbed her shoulder, rooting her to the spot. His fingers faltered, grip slipping, and something snapped in Bulma’s brain. “I cannot fucking believe you.”

Vegeta blinked, skin pallid. “ _What?_ ”

“I can’t fucking _believe_ you!” She shrieked, and slapped him hard across the cheek. Even like this, Vegeta didn’t flinch; it’s like hitting stone.

“It’s part of my plan! If that kid can bring your pitiful friends back, they can bring me back, and then my strength will double,” he wheezed, a smirk forming across his mouth. “I’ll kill Frieza for sure!”

“I’ll fucking kill you myself if you’re not careful!” Bulma yelled. Dende approached nervously, looking from Bulma to Vegeta and back. They raised their hand in a question, and Vegeta nodded, but Bulma snatched up Dende’s hand before their could place it to Vegeta’s chest. “Oh, no! I’m not done with you yet!”

“ _Woman, is this really the time?_ ” Vegeta moaned, slamming his head back onto the grass. The blood poured from his chest, steam rising into the cool air.

“Who the hell do you think you are? Goading Frieza like that? What the hell was that about? You stood there and just let him transform and did exactly what he wanted!”

“I wanted to beat him!” Vegeta hissed. He reached up to grab Dende’s other hand but Bulma slapped it away. He glared, his breathing shallow. “And I still can if you stop this childish nonsense!”

“No!” Bulma screamed, face red. She finally let go of Dende’s wrists, and Dende’s hands flew to Vegeta’s chest and she continued. “Don’t you get it, you stupid fucking idiot? If you won’t listen to me normally, maybe you’ll listen to me now; your pride isn’t worth dying for!”

“What does it matter to you if I die or not?” Vegeta spat.

“Because I care about you!”

Vegeta’s mouth slammed shut, and she heard his teeth clatter.

The rage subsided, and the heat in Bulma’s face drained, leaving her cold, and empty. Her lip trembled, and she quashed down the whine that willed itself to escape. “I don’t want you to die because I care about you, you stupid little dumb fucking troll.”

Dende gulped beside them, shaking. Warm light spilled between their fingers, and the gaping wound slowly closed. Vegeta’s throat bobbed, his eyes bloodshot, and he let out a low, ragged breath, and mumbled something like ‘ _Bulma, please._ ’

“You promised me you’d try to stay alive but for the last twenty-four hours you’ve done everything in your power to die! Including getting Krillin of all people to blast you just for funsies!” Bulma snapped. Dende lifted their hands away, and leaving untouched, tan skin. Vegeta pushed Dende aside, sitting up, and Bulma prodded him in the chest with an accusing finger. “You wouldn’t listen to me even if your life depended on it!”

He reached up and pulled her hand away. “I’m listening,” he grumbled, getting to his feet.

Bulma stood with him. “And are you going to say ‘thank you’ to Dende?”

With a growl, Vegeta bared his teeth, rounding on Dende. “I guess you’re not as useless as I thought you were,” he snarled, and Bulma rolled her eyes. That was about as good as it was going to get with him.

Thunder boomed, the clouds broiling overhead, the red glow growing. Whatever Frieza was doing, it was coming to a head.

“Dende! Over here!” Someone called, and Bulma looked up. Gohan waved to them, hands cupped over his mouth. “We need you to heal Piccolo! Hurry!”

Vegeta grunted, and nudged Dende with the edge of his boot. “Scram! Before I change my mind.”

“Bulma’s right, you are a bully,” Dende snapped. Vegeta blinked, taken aback, and Bulma gasped. Dende kicked off, and Bulma grabbed Vegeta’s arm to stop him.

“Drop it,” Bulma ordered, and she felt Vegeta relax in her grip.

Overhead, the sky continued to swirl, and the planet heaved. This place would be destroyed if it kept going like this. The high pitched keening of powerful ki filled the air, and the ground trembled, another volley of blasts tearing into the planet’s surface. A blast of light caused Vegeta to jump, spinning around on the spot to watch a distant mountain explode, thousands of tonnes of earth and rock thrown up into the air.

He turned to take off again, but she held onto him, and Vegeta didn’t shake her off. He shot her a pleading look over his shoulder. “Bulma,” he insisted. “You need to get out of here.”

She hugged him, and Vegeta groaned. She bit back the tears, and spoke between her grit jaw. “I will, I will! Just—Fuck, I don’t know! Just stay alive, please? Goku will be here soon, I know it.”

Instead of throwing her aside, he growled, tail whipping, and returned the favour with one strong arm. He glared over her shoulder at the storm clouds, and a spot that burned crimson on the horizon, marking where Frieza’s strength grew. Thunder rumbled, and Vegeta’s jaw rested on her shoulder for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, but unusually gentle, “are you going to promise the same? Or are you going to have a fight with me about it?”

She laughed. She couldn’t believe it. She laughed, and wiped her eyes, still holding onto him for dear life. Behind her, the thunder grew louder, and static rippled up and down her spine. She couldn’t sense energy, but she knew what was coming. “Yes! Yeah, I promise.”

He let go, and behind them, the sky broke. The black clouds vanished, unwinding in an instant, a plume of dust rising high above the mountains. Off to the side, Krillin helped Piccolo to his feet. He was still covered in blood, but he didn’t tremble when he stood, and even from a distance, Bulma could see that he was healed.

Between them, Gohan pulled Dende into a tight hug, laughing.

“You idiots! What are you doing?” Vegeta howled, stalking off to meet them, shoulders squared. Bulma trotted after him, avoiding the deep, still smouldering trenches in the earth.

“I see him!” Piccolo roared, and they all braced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I've been extremely busy at work and I haven't had much of a chance to look at this project. I'm sorry also fot not posting art, I'm going through some art block at the moment, but hopefully the chapter itself will make up for it. I'm also sorry it's a little shorter than you might be expecting. There should only be one more update after this and then it'll be done!
> 
> thanks so much for reading and sticking with it!


	10. Chapter 10

“ _ Bang. _ ”

Frieza's voice is barely a whisper, but they all heard him.

The blast is instant, a flash of blinding red and white and the smell of sulphur. Bulma ducked, shielding her eyes, but they still burned.

The mountain behind them exploded, the grey plume reaching high into the clouds, and leaving Bulma’s ears ringing. Bulma blinked away stars, and someone screamed.

“ _ Dende! _ ”

She whipped around. Four figures stood on the grass, staring at something a little way behind them, a cloud of dust settling about their form. The smell of something burning caught in Bulma’s throat, and she gagged. The cloud disappeared, and a tiny, crumpled figure lay face first in the charred grass and earth.

Her voice slipped between grit teeth in a scream before she could stifle it. All four of them jump, and a fifth, slim, terrifyingly pale figure on the edge of the grass turned in her direction. Frieza’s eyes settle on her, slithering across her face before a smirk breached his dark mouth.

“One down already, and I didn’t even break a sweat,” he said.

Gohan launched himself with a cry, ki flying, and the fight started again. They all moved in a blur, three on one, and Vegeta off to the side, watching, eyes wide. Frieza seemed still, and yet he somehow dodged their hits. He tilted his head, stepped back a hair, turned himself ever so slightly, every strike finding only empty space. Bulma wrenched her gaze away from Frieza back to Dende’s huddled form.

She wanted to rush over, she wanted to pick them up, shake them awake, but she knew it was over. Another cried crawled out in a pitiful, broken croak and all time slowed.

Somewhere behind her, the fight continued. She stared at Dende’s tattered clothes, still smoking, their green skin burned an awful black.

Everything faded to white.

“ _ You idiots! Behind you! _ ” Vegeta bellowed, and Bulma snapped out of her stupor.

She looked up in time to see Krillin, Gohan and Piccolo standing alone, confused, and Frieza behind them, his hand raised, index finger outstretched and pointing across the field, between them all. Bulma paled.

“Here I am,” he said, simply.

The blast shot across the grass, red filling her vision.

It’s over.

Somewhere deep in her brain, she has accepted it. There’s no fear, not even shock or surprise, just acceptance. The moment drags out an inch at a time, agonizingly slow. She can see the blast hurtling towards her, past Piccolo, Krillin, and Gohan by a hair. She can see it burning the grass around it, feel the electricity running along her skin, like the static before a lightning strike.

She hit the ground hard, and the blast whizzed overhead with an almighty crack.

The planet rocked with another explosion.

Bulma opened her eyes, her head swimming. Cool grass brushed against her cheek, and a boiling welt formed on her back. Behind her, an entire plateau crumbled into the sea, and Vegeta stood over her head, hand raised.

“How sweet!” Frieza called. “Oh, Vegeta, you really  _ did  _ make some friends after all! Well, I’m glad you can say that you died surrounded by the people you love!”

“Shut up!” Vegeta snarled.

“H-how did he do that? I didn’t even see Frieza move!” Krillin gasped. “H-how did he move so fast?”

Piccolo lumbered forward, grabbing Bulma by the back of her shirt and pulling her to her feet. “Did you have that kind of power before when you saw me getting pummelled and didn’t do anything?” He asked, gruffly.

“You’re as thick as the rest of your race, aren’t you?” Vegeta growled. “Your bald friend did the only smart thing he’s ever done in his life and maybe just saved the rest of you.”

Bulma righted herself, her knees wobbling, and her back aching. She turned to Vegeta, and under all the dried blood and dirt his cheeks darkened just a fraction. “H-hey, thanks, Vegeta,” she said, her voice thin. He grunted.

Gohan and Krillin made their way over, Krillin clamouring to explain. “...I blasted a hole in his chest and Dende brought him back! Saiyans get a power boost each time they almost die—I didn’t have a choice!”

“Bulma, are you alright?” Gohan asked, his cheeks still slick.

Bulma nodded, straightening herself. Her back was all sorts of ‘out’, but at least it wasn’t snapped in two. “Y-yeah, yeah I’m fine, don’t worry about it—!”

“Y-you were so fast, Vegeta! I coudn’t follow that at all!” Krillin started, but Vegeta pushed him aside, striding forward.

He arched his tail high, before wrapping around his waist. “ _ Bah! _ Don’t get too excited. This was just a demonstration of my new found power.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Krillin stammered, staring after him.

Vegeta turned in Freiza’s direction, his shoulders back, head high, and Bulma heard the smirk to his words. “Why don’t the rest of you stand back and stay out of my way? I’ve got some business to take care of.”

Frieza watched him carefully, leaning back on his heels, and fixing him with a cold red stare. He chuckled under his breath. “Your words may be tough, Vegeta, but I wonder, can you back them up?”

“I don’t think you realise just who you are dealing with,” Vegeta called. His pride swelled in his chest, the formidable spark of war returning to his eye. His armour hung off his shoulders awkwardly, and ribbons of fabric from his tattered suit billowed in the breeze, but under all the mud, and clay, and blackened ash Bulma heard his voice growing, like thunder heralding the storm.

He spread his arms wide, as if embracing the world for one last time, and he called out to Namek, to the remains of his planet smeared across some distant sky, and to the thousands of Saiyans standing in his shadow; “Introducing…  _ Super Saiyan Vegeta! _ ”

Bulma moaned, and buried her face in her hands, hissing, “oh, my  _ God _ .”

Piccolo glanced down. “I’m guessing this is common?” He asked, voice low.

“No, it’s just stupidest thing he’s said so far.”

“A s-super Saiyan? What does he mean?” Krillin asked, turning back to Bulma.

Even at this distance, Bulma saw Frieza’s eyes widen a fraction, and his mouth twitch. He lifted his hand to his mouth, and uttered another snigger, regaining composure. “How long did we spend workshopping that name then? Five minutes?  _ Ten? _ ”

“Joke all you want Frieza, but I can now see the peak of your power, where as I am just beginning to tap into mine!”

Ki rolled off Vegeta in steely waves, and Bulma realised what was happening. She instinctively moved behind Piccolo, as Namek shuddered. Vegeta launched forward, the wind roaring, and the battle started again. The sky lit up with a thousand blasts, streaking through the air like comets, every blast echoing across the planet, threatening to rend Bulma’s body in half. She covered her ears, the ringing became a high pitched keen.

Lightning crackled across Namek, the sky flashing. A trail of blasts filled the sky, blooming in the air like supernovas, and black dots swirled in Bulma’s vision. Piccolo’s hand grabbed her under the armpit, and he dragged her back behind a cliff as a blast struck the ocean beside them, sending a pillar of water hundreds of feet in to the air.

Bulma tore herself away from Piccolo. High above them, she saw Vegeta raining blasts down on Frieza, but everything fell short, Frieza merely moving back, his arms folded, his tail swaying. Bulma cupped her hands over her mouth, and shouted, “ _ Vegeta, pull your head out of your ass! _ ”

A blast with the weight of a nuclear bomb went off, and rushed towards the ground, bathing the planet in violet.

“He’s going to blow the whole planet up if he’s not careful!” Piccolo coughed.

“I don’t think he cares!” Krillin cried.

The blast descended, and Frieza moved in a flash. He kicked, and the blast shot back up into the sky. Vegeta wheeled back. The blast pierced the clouds, through the atmosphere, and far above, it burst, and the sky turned white. The light faded, and the sky returned to normal.

“ _ Wh-what? _ ”

She heard Vegeta even here.

“He… he just kicked it aside, like it was nothing!” Krillin gaped. He trembled on the spot, all the colour bled from his features. Gohan’s knees shook, and he clutched Krillin’s arm.

“It’s too much for him,” Piccolo said. His eyes were fixed on Frieza, his fangs bared, his skin glistening with sweat. “He hasn’t got enough power to finish this. That was all he had, and it still wasn’t enough.”

Before Bulma can ask what he meant, Frieza moved.

Every hit, every strike, every bone crunching kick echoed. The sound of armour splitting, and bone breaking, pierced Bulma through her heart. Her blood turned to ice, and her lungs forgot how to breathe. Vegeta’s body struck the water with a splash, so small and feeble in comparison to every other assault on the planet’s surface it felt like nothing.

Frieza parted the water in a veil, exposing the sea bed, the air sizzling, and Bulma started forward. Piccolo grabbed her again, holding her back. “There’s nothing you can do!”

“No! No! This can’t happen!” She screamed, throat stinging.

Frieza emerged from the water, holding a limp figure up by a clump of wet hair, before hurling it at the ground. Vegeta struck a cliff, and the rock split. He tumbled down, a trail of dust out behind him, and settled on the clay. Bulma ripped her wrist free, her joints burning, her heart threatening to wrench itself between her ribs. “ _ Let me go! _ ”

Krillin darted forward. “We have to do someth—!” Piccolo grabbed him too, pulling him back by the shoulder.

“We can’t do anything!” He hissed, holding Bulma down. He picked her up around the middle, and she wriggled and writhed, screaming and spitting, kicking him viciously, but Piccolo didn’t budge.

“ _ Vegeta, get up! _ ”

Frieza landed softly on the clay. “Would you look at that, Vegeta? You have your own little fan club! Though it seems only one of them is willing to stand up for you!”

Vegeta’s chest heaved, his breath coming out in a rattling wheeze and Frieza closed in. He tilted his head curiously, regarding Vegeta coldly, calculatingly, like a snake before it strikes. He lifted his hand, and Bulma kicked Piccolo in the stomach. He let go, and she ran forward.

“H-hey! Hey you stinking shithead lizard!” She roared despite her burning throat.

Frieza deigned to glance at her, his hand still raised. He was shorter than her, and slimmer; a bleached willow wisp in comparison to her, but he still somehow managed to loom. His power flared behind him in a cobra’s hood, and his mouth quirked. “Don’t worry,” he cooed. “Everyone gets a turn.”

“ _ Don’t you f-fucking dare, woman! _ ” Vegeta coughed, blood flying. “ _ Don’t you dare start this! _ ”

“What a fierce little pet you’ve found, Vegeta,” Frieza crooned. He stood up, and lowered his hand. “Barking in the face of a God! Such bravery!”

Bulma licked her lips. She was scared, she knew she was; every alarm, bell and klaxon went off in her head in a cacophony of instincts that willed her to turn and run but she wouldn’t. For years, she’d hidden behind others, behind Yamcha, behind Goku and more recently, Vegeta. She found her legs carrying her forward, her pace slow and her footsteps measured.

“You have no idea,” she whispered. The wind blew, and her sweat drenched hair clung to her skin. “You have no idea what you’re up against.”

“You already told me who you are,” Frieza said. He leaned back, casually, and his hands settled on his hips. He surveyed her, and something akin to amusement flickered in his eyes. “And it isn’t more impressive the second time around.”

“Bulma! Stop!” Gohan cried. “What are you doing?!”

Vegeta seized, trying to roll over, but he couldn’t. “ _ You hypocrite! _ ”

“You’re a coward.” Bulma’s voice returned with a vengeance, from deep within her chest. It won't be long now. “A shitty, insignifiant little lizard. You’re nothing.”

Frieza laughed, blinking. He kicked Vegeta lightly but Bulma knew how heavy it really was at the sound of Vegeta’s strained groan. Bulma resisted the urge to run forward, and grit her teeth.

“Did you hear that, prince? She really  _ is _ going to fight me, face to face! Such loyalty! Perhaps I should enlist her to replace you when you’re gone?”

“ _ Sh-shut up! Shut up! _ ” Vegeta moaned, and his voice grew weak. “ _ You wretched, foolish, stupid woman! I can’t f-fucking believe you’re doing this! _ ”

It won’t be long now. It can’t be.

Frieza smiled, and Bulma’s heart stopped. He lifted his hand again, and pointed it at Vegeta’s throat. “Well, now, since she cares for you so much, she won’t want to see you suffering like you are! Let me put you out of your misery; it’ll save you from seeing what I do to her.”

A crack tore through the air, like a clap of thunder. A blast of wind rolled across the grass, and Bulma shielded her eyes against the dust. They all turned, and the dust parted. A tall figure, crowned in a mane of shaggy hair straightened up, and Bulma nearly passed out.

“It’s ok guys! It’s just me!” Goku announced. “What’s up? Oh, hey Piccolo, when did you get here?”

“D-dad?” Gohan exclaimed. Tears streamed down his face.

“Hey Gohan! Nice suit! I don’t think master Roshi or your mum would approve, though,” Goku announced.

Bulma’s heart leapt, her eyes watering. He’s here! He’s here and it’s going to be ok!

Goku turned his attention to Frieza, glaring, and then asked. “So you’re Frieza, right?”

Frieza blinked, slow, and deliberate. “No.”

“Really?”

Bulma exploded. “ _ Goku, of course it’s fucking him! Do you see anyone else around here trying to kill us? _ ”

Goku laughed, and shrugged. “I know,” he said, and his simple, child like grin made everything better for just one moment. “Leave the rest to me, it’s my turn now.”

“Did you hit your head on the way here?” Piccolo blurted, gnashing his teeth. “It’s going to take all of our power put together to even put a dent in his defence!”

“I’m fine!” Goku announced. He flexed, and ki wreathed his frame, glowing bright. He strode forward, closing the gap between him and Frieza. He passed Bulma, and paused. The ki came off him like steam, twisting around his limbs, working its way between his clothes; it was warm, almost comforting. He offered Bulma a gentle look. “It’s alright, I’ve got it.”

He turned his attention to Frieza. “You’ve really done a number on this planet!” He called. His gaze settled on Vegeta, and for the first time, Bulma saw something steely in Goku’s eyes. “Whatever problems you had with Vegeta, you can take them up with me now.”

“My, my, Vegeta, do my eyes deceive me? Or do you have  _ two _ friends?” Frieza sneered.

Vegeta groaned again. “ _ H-hate you, I hate you all! K-Kakarot especially. _ ”

“Vegeta, that’s not a very nice thing to say about Bulma!” Goku chided, but his glare returned to Frieza.

Frieza took a step forward, his tail sweeping in a graceful arc. “Hold on, hold on. Kakarot? that’s a Saiyan name. How interesting…” He tilted his head again, regarding Goku, his red eyes searching for something. “You look familiar—”

“I don’t care,” Goku announced.

Frieza’s jaw twitched. “Goodness, aren’t we impatient?”

Krillin darted forward, and grabbed Bulma around the middle. He dragged her back to the relative safety of the others, but she still struggled against him. Frieza flicked his wrist, and a volley of blasts flew from his fingertips. Explosions sounded from all sides, in the water, between the hills, ripping through the air, bludgeoning Namek’s face, tearing it apart until a baited silence fell once more.

A hand burst from the dust, and waved it away. Goku shook his other hand a little, frowning. “Man, are we done here?”

“What?” Frieza started.

Vegeta wheezed, and Bulma realised it was him laughing. “You just don’t get it do you? Kakarot is no ordinary Saiyan.”

“Do not start this again,” Frieza warned. “I am not listening to another one of your poorly put together monologues because you fancy yourself an actor!”

Vegeta laughed, his wheeze growing more ragged, and bloody. “Kakarot is a Super Saiyan! If there are Gods out there, they must be good if they let me live long enough to see the look on your face when you’re beaten by a Saiyan—!”

It was so fast, no one realised what happened.

A blast lanced through Vegeta’s chest, and out the other side, and suddenly, he fell limp. He coughed, and bright blood splattered across the clay. Frieza’s ghostly hand returned to his side, and Bulma’s throat tightened.

“Enough of this! On and on, wasn’t everyone else getting tired of it?” Frieza called with an airy wave. “‘Super Saiyan  _ this _ ’, and ‘Super Saiyan  _ that _ ’. It’s enough to drive anyone to murder!”

“What did you do that for? He wasn’t a threat to you anymore!” Goku stood his ground, and raised his fists.

Vegeta spluttered, his breathing laboured, and Bulma struggled against Krillin. “ _ Fuck you, fuck this! Let go of me, I’m sick of  everyone standing around and doing nothing! _ ” She punched Krillin hard in the face, and he stumbled back.

“ _ Oh, you can block all the others but you can’t block that one? _ ” Vegeta rasped, glaring at Goku.

“I thought  _ you _ had it!”

“ _ Imbecile! _ ”

Bulma scrambled across the grass, Gohan trying to wrench her back, but she slipped from his grip, lunging forward, and collapsing into the dirt at Vegeta’s side. Blood soaked into the clay, and steamed. She reached out for him, hands trembling and grey. A hole the size of her fist gaped in his chest. She tried to plug it, her fingers fumbling, slipping in the searing blood, and Vegeta let out an awful, low moan.

Vegeta seemed to forget she was there, his head turned, eyes on Goku. “K-Kakarot, listen to me, and I mean actually  _ listen _ to me,” he mumbled. A trickle of blood escaped the corner of his mouth. “Don’t be—so soft. There’s no stinking honor in any of this.”

“V-Vegeta, shut up! Shut  _ up _ !” Bulma hissed, trying to use her shirt to stop the bleeding.

“I agree! He’s a corpse and he’s still managing to talk!” Frieza remarked. He seemed happy to watch, his head cocked and a smirk across his face.

Vegeta shook his head, spitting. “N-no! No, you have to hear this. I have lived, my entire life under Frieza’s rule—he t-took me when I was a boy. I did everything he asked and still he killed everyone else, he still destroyed my planet— _ our planet _ —because he was scared of us; of our potential as Saiyans!”

“Vegeta, shut up! You’re not going to die!” Bulma sobbed. He snatched her wrist, holding it still, and the world falling away except for Goku. Tears mingled with his blood.

“H-he made me what I am, don’t let him do this to anyone else.” His voice cut off, and he coughed again. His grip wavered on her wrist, and Bulma grabbed his face, turning it towards her. Throat bobbing, he muttered something, his voice just beyond hearing.

She waited, clasping his face, and his pulse grew fainter. She shook her head. “No, no, nononono, no! No, you  _ bastard _ , I’m never going to forgive you!”

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips, and then, he was still.

She thought there would be more, some dramatic sigh, some last spluttering cough, but he just seeped away between her fingers, like smoke. A breeze blew off the wate

r, smelling of salt and clay. Distantly, the ocean lapped against the shores, and the trees swayed, and the planet lulled. Another sob took hold, and she doubled over retching.

Something inside her broke.

“Finally. Saiyans do tend to linger like a bad smell.”

Bulma whipped around, eyes red, cheeks wet. “ _ Shut the fuck up, _ ” she seethed, bile burning her tongue. “ _ I’ll kill you my fucking self _ .”

“Bulma, it’s done.”

She looked up, and Goku caught her eye. She’d never seen him like this. He nodded, and there was something profoundly sad behind his smile. “You did all that you could. I can do this for you both now.”

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Frieza interjected. “It was a wonderful performance, one of the better ones I’ve seen, but are we quite done? You’ll all be joining him soon enough—!”

Goku’s fist connected with Frieza’s jaw with a crack, and Frieza went flying.

Everything became a blur.

Bulma registered someone taking her by the arm, and pulling her to her feet. Everyone’s voices dulled, and the explosions that rocked the planet, ripping apart the sea bed and mountains faded away. Gohan pulled her along, saying something. She could see his mouth moving, his eyes wet, staring into hers, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

She glanced down at her hands, and they were streaked stinking red. It was still hot.

The planet rocked with every hit, and the surface threatened to cave in on itself.

There was a flash, and Bulma fell.

 

****

 

Flexing her fingers in the dark, she feels nothing.

She’s somewhere, though she can’t figure out where that somewhere might be. The world is dark, and soft, like sinking into a warm blanket after a long day. She moves her hands again, and they sting with a thousand tiny cuts. Her lungs remember how to function, and how to take in air, and she gasps, her ribs all bent out of shape. She tries to open her eyes, but she can’t. Or maybe she can? She can’t tell.

Where was she before this?

_ WAKE UP! _

That doesn’t sound like anyone she knows. She manages a groan, and feels it echo across her chest. “What?”

The voice fills her head like a thousand crashing cymbals.

_ WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP—! _

Her eyes fly open, and gravity returns.

She wobbled on the spot, and she leaned against a plastered wall for balance. She looked up into the sky, shielding her eyes against a burning sun, before she realised it was a swinging candelabra suspended hundreds of feet above her. She whipped around, legs wobbling. People surrounded her, everywhere, dressed in the same simple shift gowns and jostling towards some unknown destination.

Bulma pressed her back up against the wall, her nails digging into the plaster.

_ DIALING 1-8-0-0-ARE-YOU-AWAKE? COME IN, BULMA. IS THIS THING ON? _

The voice knocked all other thoughts aside, like a baseball bat to the skull.

“Wh—?”

_ OH GOOD, YOU’RE AWAKE! I DON’T HAVE MUCH TIME TO EXPLAIN— _

“Who is this?”

_ YOUR GRANDFATHER, I DON’T KNOW, LOOK, DON’T ASK ME HOW I GOT THIS NUMBER. MY NAME IS KING KAI, AND I HAVE THE OTHERS WITH ME. _

Bulma blinked, staring into the crowd. A thousand pallid faces passed her, bodies of all shapes and sizes, lumbering forward in a tidal wave, threatening to drag her down along with them. She sucked in her gut, keeping on her toes, almost willing herself to fall through the wall. “Aren’t you Goku’s friend?” She managed.

The voice on the other end groaned, as if shuddering at the very thought.

_ SOMETHING LIKE THAT! BUT LISTEN, NAMEK IS ABOUT TO BE LOST, FRIEZA IS GOING TO DESTROY IT, AND YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WITH A BRAIN. _

Her aforementioned brain worked slowly, pulling itself through the mud one thought at a time. “What do you mean ‘the others’?”

_ HEY BULMA, ITS CHIAOTZU! TIEN IS HERE TOO—! _

_ GIVE ME THAT! _

There was the sound of a scuffle.

_ BULMA! BABY-B! IT’S ME! _

Bulma’s eyes bulged, and she coughed. Someone elbowed her, and she fell into the crowd. She pushed people aside, reaching for the walls, but it was useless.

_ EVERYONE BACK UP, THIS IS  _ NOT _ A GROUP CALL!!  _ King Kai shrilled.  _ BULMA, WE HAVE THE EARTH DRAGON BALLS ALL COLLECTED, BUT NO ONE ELSE IS PICKING UP—WHAT WAS THE STATUS OF NAMEK BEFORE YOU DIED? _

“I’m dead? Since when?” She cried. Someone shouldered her, and she stumbled forward with a curse. The crowd funnelled towards a doorway, rising up from the floor like a portal, and a dread like she had never felt before coiled in her gut.

_ NO, YOU’RE JUST AT THE SOUL CHECK-IN STATION FOR FUN! OF COURSE YOU’RE DEAD! IT’S GOING TO TAKE SOME SWEET TALKING TO GET YOUR BODY BACK BUT I THINK WE’LL MANAGE! WHAT WAS NAMEK LIKE BEFORE YOU LEFT? _

“I-I don’t know! Falling apart!” Bulma shouted. She struggled to breathe, bodies pressed in on her from all sides, and she was being herded closer to the door. “E-everyone is still there! Goku and Gohan and everyone else!”

She tried to remember what happened. Gohan had her by the hand, they were heading somewhere, he wanted to carry her, and she wouldn’t move. Her mind went fuzzy. She looked down at her hands, and to her horror, they were still red.

_ I KNOW THAT! I’M TRYING TO FIGURE OUT IF WE CAN WISH THEM BACK AND HOW— _

“Just wish everyone who Frieza killed back with Shenron!” Bulma managed, squeezing between people, and bursting out into the tiny clear space between crowd and wall. Her mind quietened, and she started to panic, until King Kai’s grating voice returned.

_ WHY DIDN’T I THINK OF THAT? YOU TWO WERE RIGHT, SHE’S WAY SMARTER THAN THE REST OF YOU. NO WONDER SHE GAVE VEGETA A RUN FOR HIS MONEY! _

Vegeta? Oh God. Oh God, oh God, he was dead! He was dead  _ too _ .

Someone else spoke, and she recognised Tien’s bored tones.  _ I’VE BEEN SAYING THAT FOR TEN MINUTES. _

Bulma ducked someone’s outstretched arm. The doorway at the end of the colossal hall loomed, flanked by blue skinned monsters, watching the crowd with steely eyes, and Bulma gulped. “W-wish everyone who was killed by Frieza and his men back, it’ll bring back the Namekians, and their Dragon Balls. We still had one wish left, we could make one more to get everyone off the planet before it blows up!”

_ ALRIGHT! GOOD PLAN—KAMI, DID YOU GET ALL THAT TOO? _

Another voice joined, gentle, and unfathomably deep.

 

**Yes.**

 

All the air left Bulma in a wheeze. Kami?  _ The _ Kami? She could’ve fainted right there if she wasn’t being shoved and funneled towards an uncertain end. Her brain finally kicked itself into gear, and she realised what was going on. She pulled herself back, ducking and dodging, wading back through the crowd.

“Hey! You there! Excuse me!” Someone called. A blue man, crowned with horns and dressed in a neat shirt pointed at her. “Could you please stop trying to go backwards? It’s disrupting the line! Thank you!”

She went red, and flashed him a charming grin. She made a show of turning back around, and going with the flow of the crowd, but she tried to make it slow, and winding.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry! I don’t know what’s going to happen to me!” Bulma pleaded under her breath.

The door loomed, and someone behind her kicked her over the threshold and into line. The crowd vanished, and the space opened up. She stood in a brightly lit room, completely empty save for a massive dark wood desk, and a bearded giant slouched in an office chair.

“Next.” His voice settled like tombstones, and Bulma jumped.

She looked around, and realised with horror, she was at the front of the line. Someone pushed her again, and she stumbled forward. The giant leaned over the edge of his desk, looking down at her over the top of his glasses critically. She saw his great yellow eyes flit to some paperwork by his hand.

“Hmm, your record isn’t especially good,” he mused, running a finger down the page. “But you haven’t done anything particularly  _ bad _ either. I suppose shooting a child with a submachine gun can be forgiven due to your own age at the time...”

“Uh… we all make mistakes?” Bulma offered with a helpful smile.

_ WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO? AM I ON SPEAKER? _

“Big red guy,” Bulma hissed. “Horns… um, a desk.”

_ OH? YOU’RE WITH KING YEMMA ALREADY? OK, JUST ACT NATURAL AND PUT ME ON TO HIM, I’LL SMOOTH THIS OVER. _

Bulma blinked, glancing around. “H-how—?”

She heard King Kai clear his throat, and when he spoke, his voice filled the room, instead of just her head.

_ KING YEMMA, LONG TIME NO SEE! _

King Yemma didn’t look up. “King Kai! This isn’t a great time.”

_ I KNOW, I KNOW, YOU’RE A BUSY MAN, MARRIED TO THE JOB AND ALL THAT. WE ALL APPRECIATE YOUR DEDICATION TO THE CAUSE. BUT IF I COULD JUST HAVE A MOMENT OF YOUR TIME, ONE GOD TO ANOTHER, I PROMISE IT’LL BE QUICK. IT INVOLVES THE SOUL YOU’RE SEEING NOW. _

King Yemma’s eyes narrowed, and he peered at Bulma. He tapped the end of his pen on the desk. “Oh? What about this woman?”

_ Woman. _

She saw his face, bloody and streaked with dirt and tears, cradled in her hands. She saw Frieza standing over him, his eyes unfathomably empty. She felt the ghost of Vegeta’s feather light touch across her arm and her caution snapped like a matchstick.

There’s only  _ one _ bastard allowed to call her  _ that. _

“I  _ have  _ a name, you know! You clearly have it right there!” The gasp rippled back up the line, and somewhere on the other line, Bulma heard someone groan. She stomped forward, to the very edge of the red velvet carpet, her hands balled into tight fists. “My name is Bulma!  _ Bulma!  _ B-U-L-M-A, yes I know it’s stupid but it’s my name and I like it—!”

_ YEMMA, THIS IS IMPORTANT. I NEED YOU TO HOLD OFF CONDEMNING BULMA FOR A WHILE. THE FATE OF THE UNIVERSE COULD BE AT STAKE! _

King Yemma growled, slamming his papers down on his desk. “Why should I be lenient? I’ve been yelled at all day! First by that blood-thirsty half pint Saiyan, and now by this wo—I mean, B-Bulma!”

Tolling like a bell, Kami’s voice sounded, echoing.

 

**It’s true, King Yemma. Goku is battling Frieza right now, and the planet of Namek will be destroyed. If Goku loses this fight, then Frieza will set his sights on the entire world.**

 

King Yemma bridled, glaring up at the ceiling. “You again? I’ve already done you a favour by giving Goku his body back and letting him travel Snake Way! I can’t just play favourites with people!”

_ WE WANT TO WISH BACK EVERYONE THAT FRIEZA AND HIS MEN KILLED, AND I KNOW THAT MEANS YOU’LL LOSE A SIGNIFICANT AMOUNT OF SOULS, BUT I PROMISE IT’S FOR A GOOD CAUSE. _

King Yemma sighed like a hurricane. “And I suppose you’re all planning to send me this Frieza after this is all over and done with as well?”

_ WELL, I MEAN, YEAH, IF ALL GOES ACCORDING TO PLAN. _

Bulma cleared her throat politely, and King Yemma glanced down. “You’d be saving a lot of people! A whole race! It really won’t be that many in the grand scheme of things, we just want to get the Namekian Dragon Balls back so that we can set things right.”

King Yemma groaned. He reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking off his glasses. “That’d be hours of work for me, just up in smoke!”

“I know! I know,” Bulma crooned. “But just think of all the good you’d be doing!”

Kami spoke again.

 

**We don’t have much time—Planet Namek is fading fast. We need to make the wish now.**

 

King Yemma wiped his glasses, and put them back on, pushing them up his nose. He regarded Bulma keenly, and let out another, thundering sigh. “Fine. Make your wish. That Saiyan Prince from earlier is probably causing a too much of a ruckus Below anyway!”

“Prince? W-was he ok? Did he mention anything?”

“Why? Are you two friends?”

_ ALL RIGHT, IT’S OVER TO YOU KAMI. WISH EVERYONE KILLED BY FRIEZA AND HIS MEN BACK TO LIFE. _

Someone sighed, and Bulma felt it in her soul.

 

**Yes. I heard you. You don’t have to repeat everything. Thank you, King Yemma, we all greatly appreciate your charity. Bulma, dear, try to keep the peace.**

 

The room vanished, and Bulma fell once more.

****

 

Bulma blinked against the sudden sunlight of a bygone dream. Overhead, white clouds trailed through a familiar blue sky, and the smell of wild flowers filled the air. The sun warmed the back of Bulma’s head, and she turned on the spot.

“H-hey, Bulma!”

She started, and Gohan’s face appeared between the branches of an elm. He grinned, jumping down, and Bulma’s eyes watered. “Gohan! You’re ok!” She squeaked, voice tight. He threw his arms around her waist, forcing the air from chest but she still managed a weak, “where are we?”

Sparrows twittered between the trees, and the more she looked, more figures started to appear; green skinned and draped in robes and cloaks, and Bulma gasped.

Gohan pulled at her sleeve. “It’s Earth! Can you believe it?”

She shook her head. “N-no, not really.”

“ _ Hey! Goku! _ ” A voice boomed.

Gohan tripped over himself running towards a tall person, striding towards them, frowning. “Mr Piccolo!” Gohan cried, hair flying. “You’re back! A-and Dende! What happened?”

“Dende?” Bulma stammered. Sure enough, between the trees, standing a few inches shorter than Gohan, was a tiny green figure stuffed into too-big robes. She crossed the clearing, hardly noticing her legs moving, and Dende looked up, grinning. “Oh my god, oh my god, y-you’re ok!”

“Everyone’s ok!” Dende proclaimed. They spun on the spot, arms wide, laughing. “Everyone’s alive and here and we’re all ok!”

“But what  _ happened _ ?” Gohan asked.

Dende shrugged, too excited for words. “I-I don’t know! Someone wished us back to life, and I was on Namek, and then I wished us to Earth!”

Bulma only half listened. Between the trees stretched rolling green hills, with woods spilling between them. A stream gurgled nearby, birds called, and bees buzzed lazily between the foxgloves. She reached out, touching the nearest bush, and the leaf was soft and cool and more importantly, real.

Gohan grabbed her hand, and dragged her away. “Come on! We have to see Guru, he’s alive!”

“I-I don’t know who that is,” Bulma began, but Dende grabbed her other hand, and pulled her along too.

“We’ll introduce you!” They said, beaming.

More and more Namekians appeared in the clearing, stepping out from under the trees, squinting against the noon day sun. They gathered out in the open, where a single, towering Namkien slumped forward on the grass. Dende’s hands slipped from hers, and they rushed to the Guru’s side. “Guru! You’re alive!”

Guru chuckled under his breath. “So it appears,” he said, smiling beneath the mounds of wrinkles. His voice was soft, and distant, as if channeled from a thousand years ago. He leaned back on the spot, and several Namekians darted forward at the ready, waiting to help, but he waved them aside. “I fear that while I’d been brought back, I am on borrowed time, so I will explain what happened. Namek will be destroyed, there is nothing we can do for now, but in the last moments, Goku wished for us to be transported to safety.”

“Goku wished for this?” Piccolo asked, voice sharp. “Where’s he then? What’s happened to him and Frieza?”

The Guru breathed in, and the woods seemed to breath in too. “Goku wished for all on planet Namek to be moved to Earth, except for Frieza and himself.”

The smile on Gohan’s face died in an instant. “W-what? He’s—he’s still on Namek? Fighting Frieza?”

“But it’s going to blow up any second!” Bulma blurted. A dozen pairs of eyes fell on her, and she felt the blood leave her face.

“Namek is going to explode?” Someone cried.

“W-where will we go? What will we do?”

“Isn’t there anything we can do?”

Piccolo pulled at his antennae, eyes wide. “This is absurd! Even if Goku does defeat Frieza, the explosion alone will be enough to destroy him!” He said. “I don’t understand!”

“ _ I do _ .”

Perched on a rock, his elbows resting on his knees, Vegeta surveyed the group from beneath a heavy brow. His armour clung just barely to his form, almost shattered, two holes marking where blasts had torn through his torso. The corner of his mouth hiked up in a sneer, and he laughed, clapping his hands together. “Kakarot can’t just turn down a good fight, it’s against his Saiyan nature, and this is the best fight of all!”

Bulma gaped. Somewhere in her chest, her heart teetered on the verge of giving out, and her hands flew to her head, running through her hair. She searched for something to say, anything, the thoughts and words flying too fast to catch.

_ I’m glad you’re back! _

_ You’re alive! _

_ I’m so relieved! _

But what came out instead, with tears threatening to spill, was: “I can’t believe the Dragon brought back filthy jerks as too!”

Vegeta stood up, his snigger trailing away as he said, almost chiding, “now, that wasn’t very nice.” He cast a lazy look over Gohan’s raised fists and fighting stance, and strode into the clearing, his head high, his smirk growing. “Frieza’s dead, Kakarot’s dead, I died and came back stronger than ever! This must be my lucky day!”

“Shut up! Don’t say that!” Gohan cried, but Bulma’s hand settled on his shoulder. She stepped out in front of him, and she saw Vegeta’s sneer crack at the seams like it had done a thousand times before.

“You obviously didn’t learn your lesson then,” she said.

Vegeta sauntered forward, a positive swagger in his step, his tail sweeping as he adjusted his grin. “There are Dragon Balls on Earth, if I recall correctly. I could use those and wish for immortality still and rule the universe!”

“Jesus, you  _ really _ didn’t learn anything!” Bulma huffed. “You gave a heartfelt death speech about being a slave to a tyrant and implying you had a heart and everything!”

“You’re too late,” Piccolo cut in. He pushed Gohan behind him. “The Earth’s Dragon Balls were used to bring you and everyone else back to life. They’ve turned back into regular stone now, they’re useless for another year.”

Vegeta’s smirk finally cracked. “Are you serious?”

“Alright, alright, calm down.” Bulma warned, stepping between them all. “There’s no use having a fight about this. Let’s do a headcount, and figure out where we are and what to do from here.”

The Namekians settled, aiding the Guru, and speaking together quickly. Something stirred between them, and even Dende seemed on edge, so Bulma kept out of it. The last thing she was going to do was put her nose into other people’s businesses again. Off to the side, she saw Piccolo sitting with Gohan. They talked quietly, and Gohan’s chin rested on his chest, eyes red.

She sank down into the grass at the foot of a tree. Sunlight lanced between the leaves, and somewhere, cicadas started to drone as the day wore on. She reached into her pocket, and pulled out the radar and flicked it on. The radar beeped, screen blank, and she sighed. She didn’t know what she was expecting.

He’s gone.

She fingered the edge of the radar. King Kai had somehow patched through to her brain again, and he and Yamcha passed on the message. Planet Namek was gone, with Goku and Frieza along with it. She buried her eyes into the heel of her palms with a groan. She’d laughed it off at first. What was death in the face of two sets of Dragon Balls? They could wish back anyone, again and again, no longer bound by the strict rules of Earth’s own set, but King Kai had quashed that idea the second she’d spouted it.

If they wished back Goku, he’d be wished back to where he was last alive, and into empty space.

It was as good as hopeless.

“They can still wish back that Super Saiyan idiot,” Vegeta sounded somewhere beside her. In the shade, Vegeta lay on his back, hands behind his head, staring up at the clouds. He had a few new bruises across his face, but nothing major.

“Oh, are you starting to feel guilty now that you had a fight with Gohan and made everyone mad?” She asked, voice low. “Took you long enough.”

“ _ Shut up _ ,” he grumbled, sitting up. “Wish his soul to the Check-In station and then wish him back to life if it’s such a bother to you all that he’s gone. That way I can finish him off myself.”

“What?”

Vegeta pulled up the grass beside him. “What? Are you deaf now? When you die you go to the Check-In station before you go to the Other World. Wish the buffoon back there first, then back here. It’d annoy that giant red dolt as well.”

Bulma’s hands fell to her side. He lay back down in the grass with a grunt, shutting his eyes tight.

“That’s… that just might work. Vegeta, that’s—that’s actually kind of a brilliant!” She jumped to her feet, stuffing the radar away. She pushed her hair back behind her ears, mind racing. She started off towards the crowd, and paused. “Look, I’ll tell everyone if you don’t want to but—thank you.”

He stiffened and she thought his cheeks pinked. “Don’t get carried away. Bunch of gutless softies,” he managed.

She tried to hide her smile, but it was useless. She wandered over to him, and when her shadow crossed his face, he opened one eye to frown up at her. She shrugged, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “It’s going to be a while though, we have to wait between the wishes, and—I don’t know what’s going to happen with the Namekian Dragon balls.”

“And?” He asked, closing his eyes again.

“Well, it’s not like you have any money, or know anyone else here,” she explained. She prodded him with the end of her boot, and he growled, but she knew it was harmless. “Why don’t you hide out with us for a while? Who knows? You might end up liking it here enough to not want to blow it up.”

“Be quiet! I’m not going to blow up your stupid planet! It’s not worth the effort,” Vegeta announced drolly.

“Alright then, it’s settled.”

She offered her hand. When Vegeta didn’t move, she nudged him again with her boot, and he sat up with a grumpy huff. He eyed her hand, and she waited for him to slap it away, but instead, he took it, and hauled himself up.

His hand lingered in hers a second too long, but he still snatched it away, dusting himself off, and Bulma bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. He straightened himself, and said, “looks like neither of us kept our promise not to die. So, I’ll keep the other one I made about not killing everyone when I become the strongest warrior this universe has ever seen.”

She couldn’t help herself this time, and her laughter came out in a splutter. “You  _ do _ feel bad!”

“Shut _ up _ , woman.”

“Alright, alright, enough, I’m sorry! I’m  _ sorry _ ! Come on!” She grabbed his wrist, grinning, and started off towards the clearing. “Let’s tell the others, and then after that, I guess you’re all going to hangout at my house.”

Vegeta paused, red faced. “Y-your house?”

Bulma snorted, rolling her eyes. She gripped his hand tighter. “Uh, yeah,  _ duh _ , what are frenemies for? Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Over the distant mountains, a swollen sun started its descent. Clouds gathered on the horizon, bathed in blue and gold, and the cicada song grew louder, filling the wooded hills.

 

****

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, it's finally done. Thank you for sticking with us for this long and putting up with sparodic updating times. Thank you so much for leaving so many nice comments and for just well, enjoying the story and reliving DBZ with us. I really appreciate it. This is probably all there is for a while. I do have a sequel in the works, but its not really going to be a true sequel, and its not going to be as linear or as nice as this.
> 
> Please feel free to follow me on twitter or tumblr if you want to catch up on other stuff I do! I actually write a lot of original stuff. (Twitter handle is @ronniemandias and tumblr is @ofools)
> 
> Thanks so much again!
> 
> -Ronnie

**Author's Note:**

> Hi thanks for reading our collective garbage. We've worked on this for a couple of months, and read over it several times, but it may not be entirely perfect, but we hope you enjoyed it!


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